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Once Again 


By MRS. FORRESTER 


7 TO 27 VaMDEW/.T 

ew'Yo^i^* 


' - '*1 ii^> i. 

lue Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, Issued Tri-weekl; 


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ork at second closa rates'— Out. 80, 1886. 


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MRS. FORRESTER^S WORKS 


CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBflARY (POCKET EDITION); 


NO. J 

PRICE. 

80 June 

. 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of Society , 

10 

484 Althous:!! He Was a Lord,'and Other Tales i 

. 10 

715 I Have Lived and Loved . ^ . 

20 

72i Dolores . . J 

. 20 

724 My Lord and My Lady / . ♦ . . 

20 

726 My Hero 

. 20 

727 Fair Women 

20 

729 Mignon }/.../ 

. 20 

732 From 01ym|jus to Hades . ... . 

20 

734 Viva . V . , 

736 Roy and Viola 

. 20 


740 Rliona . V • '•*'»' 

. 20 

744 Diana Carow ; or, For 'a Woman’s Sake i 

20 

883 Once Again . <1 . ... 

. 20 


ONCE AGAIN. 


CHAPTER I. 

A YOUNG man and a pretty girl madly in love. The ad- 
verb is correct. Love, like anger, is a brief madness. Love, 
when every question of prudence,' of expediency, of consid- 
eration for the future, is flung recklessly to the winds, is a 
disastrous form of madness. 

The man is much madder than the girl, inasmuch as his 
passion is a thousand-fold stronger than hers. She, indeed, 
pretty, fair, and foolish, without much character, has hith- 
erto been uninfluenced by strong feeling of any kind. Her 
Inverts fire has, however, kindled a certain amount of an- 
swering warmth in her breast, and he has succeeded in per- 
suading her that life without him would not be worth liv- 
ing. She is weak; she is yielding; she has little — only a 
little — touch of romance, and she is jounger than her nine- 
, teen years warrant. She has always leaned on a stronger 
nature. Until she met, just one month ago, the rock 
which at present offers her its support, she had leaned upon 
her mother; but the breast of the stalwafi*t young soldier 
seemed to suggest a more attractive shelter than the 
maternal bosom, and, resolutely shutting her eyes to any 
but the most agreeable and seductive thoughts of the fut- 
ure, Miss Dulcie proposed to herself to. repose blissfully and 
continuously on the impassioned heart of Mr. Noel Trevor 
for the next five decades. 

The absol utely insuperable obstacle represented by the 
young gentleman^s want of fortune added the necessary fuel 
to the flames. 

Mrs. Vernon, Dulcie^s mother — a thorough woman of 
the world, with a nature as strong as her daughter's was 
weak — was not in the very smallest degree likely to be in- 


6 


ONCE AGAIN. 


fluenced by any amount of tears and prayers from despair- 
ing lovers. She knew, or thought she knew, the exact 
value of love — so called by rash and inconsiderate youth — 
and would not have permitted Cupid to unfurl one feather 
of his wings under her roof unless he brought substantial 
oli'erings along with his false and foolish vows. Love, for- 
sooth! Perjured little wretch! Source of abiding misery 
and wretchedness since Time began! Dulcie had met Mr. 
Trevor in a country house, where, most unusual to relate, 
she had been a guest without her mother. After they had 
danced, ridden, walked, and sung together, the first symp- 
toms of madness discovered themselves: the moment they 
were parted the disease assumed a serious form. 

One November afternoon, Mr. Trevor, feeling it utterly 
impossible to remain anpther twenty-four hours without 
seeing the only object for which he at present existed, re- 
solved to take the desperate measure of calling at the house 
which shrined his angel, and, about the hour when the 
feminine and modest orgy which is performed each after- 
noon in the family circle was likely to be in full swing, he 
knocked at the door of No. — Grosvenor Street and pre- 
pared to face the dragon who guarded the golden apple he 
coveted. Por Dulcie had represented her mamma to him 
somewhat in the light of a dragon — knowing as well as she 
did that lady^s opinion on the subject of impecuniotfs ad- 
mirers. Noel, being a straightforward young soldier, had 
interspersed his vows with lamentations on the limited con- 
dition of his finances, and, whilst pleading ardently for her 
love and her hand, had not scrupled to represent his own 
unfitness to receive the gift. 

He had fondly imagined that Dulcie would in some man- 
ner have paved the way for his visit, have prepared hei 
mother ^s mind for an approaching suitor; but he reckoned 
without his fair. Dulcie was an arrant coward, very much 
in awe of her mother, and had only mentioned her meeting 
with Mr. Trevor in so casual a manner that it had not given 
Mrs. Vernon the smallest arriere-imisee. But Noel had 
not been five minutes in her charming drawing-room be- 
fore that astute lady grasped the state of affairs. Mr. 
Trevor was in love with her daughter, and, from the slight 
confusion and excitement in the manner of her usually 
placid Dulcie, she divined that his feeling was reciprocated. 

As she knew nothing of Mr. Trevor, his connections and 


ONCE AGAIN. 


7 


affairs, his desirability or the reverse, her behavior to him 
was tinted by a courteous neutrality: she was very pleasant, 
very civil, but she gave him no opportunity of exchanging 
a glance or word alone with Dulcie, and when he took his 
leave she did not invite him to repeat his visit. He pro- 
longed his call, fraught as it was to him with embarrass- 
ment and discomfort, hoping against hope that other guests 
would come in and divert Mrs. Vernon ^s attention from 
himself and her daughter, thus giving them a chance of 
communicating eternal promises of fidelity with their eyes, 
and perhaps by whispers; but on this unfortunate afternoon 
he was the only visitor, and when he went out from the 
presence which he had entered with a beating and hopeful 
heart it was with a confused feeling of having beaten his 
head against, not a brick wall, but a velvet cushion. 

“ Who is this Mr. Trevor, Dulcie?^’ inquired her moth- 
er, when the door had closed upon their visitor. Her tone 
was airy and indifferent. 

Dulcie blushed and pretended to arrange the tea-cupS. 

“ I do not know, mamma, she returned, in a confused 
voice. 

Is he related to the Trevors?"^ 

‘‘ I don’t think so.” 

‘‘Who are his people?” 

“I — I don’t think he has any — particularly,” stumbled 
Dulcie. “ His mother died a year ago, and he has not any 
father or brothers or sisters.” 

“ Where does he live?” 

“ I don’t think he lives anywhere. He is in the — th, 
and his regiment is going to India in a month or two.” 

Mrs. Vernon involuntarily heaved a slight sigh of relief. 
India is an excellent place for impecunious young soldiers. 

“ How did the Fawcetts come to know him?” she in- 
quired, with symptoms of waning interest in her tone. 

“ I — I think he was at school with Charlie.” 

“ Eather foolish of them to ask him there with two mar- 
riageable daughters,” observed Mrs. Vernon, looking full 
at poor embarrassed Dulcie, “ if, as I gather from what you 
say, he has no money and no expectations. However, he 
seems rather a dull young man, so perhaps they do not 
consider him dangerous.” 

The stab penetrated Dulcie’s breast, but she gave no sign. 
She understood well enough what her mother meant; she 


8 


0]S:CE AGAIN-. 


knew, as she had known before, that the case was hopeless. 
Tears came into her eyes, and she turned away to hide 
them, but Mrs. Vernon read her face as an open page. 

This,” she said to herself, with a sense of irritation, 

comes of my being foolish enough to allow her to stay in 
a house without me. Really I should have given Agnes 
Fawcett credit for a little more discretion than to invite a 
man of that sort. ” 

Meantime, Noel was walking in deep dejection to his 
club. Arrived there, he proceeded to the smoking-room, 
flung himself into a low chair, and having, like Jupiter, 
concealed himself in clouds, gave the rein to the most dis- 
mal thoughts and imaginings. He conceived a hatred of 
Mrs. Vernon which that courteous and well-bred lady had 
certainly done little to merit during their interview: every- 
thing assumed a tinge of inky despair: the world was Pan- 
dora's box without its one redeeming feature. If he could 
only write to his beloved one! But he felt certain 'that 
dreadful mother of hers opened her letters. Communicate 
with her in some way he must and would: but how? 

He dined without appetite, and retired again to seek the 
soothing influence of nicotine, finally deciding to write to 
Dulcie a letter wliich, even if it fell, as he foresaw it would, 
into the hands of Mrs. Vernon, could not do any serious 
mischief. He took up his pen, and, after many nibblings 
at its tail, for he was not very clever at expressing his 
thoughts on paper, wrote — 

‘‘ Hear Miss Vernon, — I am quite ashamed that I 
have only just ^¥emembered the song I promised to get 
you." Of course she'll tumble to that," he soliloquized, 
grinding the pen in his strong young teeth.) “ But I shall 
get it the first thing to-morrow and send it." (After this 
Mr. Trevor took at least ten minutes to decide on his next 
sentence.) ‘‘I hope," he ultimately continued, “that I 
shall have the pleasure of seeing you again before I go to 
India. Do you walk in the Row sometimes in the morn- 
ing, or might not we do a play together? 

“ Believe me, 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“ Noel Trevor.” 

“ There!" he ejaculated, relieved. “ there is nothing in 
that that the old cat may not see, and Dulcie — Jove! what 


ONCE A CAIN. 


9 


a sweet, dear name it is! — must answer it. She’ll under- 
stand, of course, little darling, why I’ve made it so cool 
and formal. ” 

Mrs. Vernon was rather vexed at the discovery she had 
made, but did not allow it to trouble her seriously. Her 
Dulcie was so well brought up, so thoroughly under her 
control, that she could not imagine her turning restive; 
and then. Heaven be thanked I this young man was going 
to India, and Dulcie would straightway forget all about 
him. The only thing to do was to prevent their meeting in 
the meantime. Mrs. Vernon thoroughly considered the 
question in all its bearings; whether opposition would be 
dangerous, whether it would be more prudent to pretend to 
see nothing; but, on the whole, knowing her own strength 
and Dulcie ’s weakness, she concluded the best plan would 
be to make the girl understand that young Trevor was not 
to be thought of for an instant. 

Mrs. Vernon was an ambitious woman, and had very 
different views for her pretty daughter. 

She woke earlier than usual the following morning, as 
often happens to people when thny have vexing thoughts 
lying in wait at their pillow-heads, and had plenty of time 
to reflect on the subject in every aspect before her maid 
came to call her. 

“ Bring all the letters to me when the postman comes, 
Morton,” she said, having an intuition that Mr. Trevor 
would probably employ that messenger of love. The result 
proved the correctness of her suspicions. 

A letter bearing her daughter’s name, with the large de- 
vice of a military club on the flap of the envelope, was 
handed to her with her own correspondence. 

To Miss Dulcie Vernon” 

she read, in a school-boyish hand. Without hesitation Mrs. 
Vernon broke the seal, and read the contents of the letter, 
seeing completely through Mr. Trevor’s ruse at the first 
glance. When she and her daughter met at breakfast, her 
manner was more than usually kind and affectionate. It 
was not until the conclusion of the sociable little meal that 
she alluded to the disagreeable subject weighing on her 
mind. She spoke in a very kind but a very firm voice, so 
"that Dulcie might know there was no aj^peal from her de- 
cision. 


10 


OITCE A GAIK. 


Diilcie, dear-’^ — taking up the envelope and pausing 
for a moment with it in her hand — “ this came for you this 
morning. I do not approve of young men writing to you, 
and I opened it. 

Dulcie blushed furiously. She was indignant at her pre- 
cious missive having been tampered with, and she was ter- 
ribly frightened lest Noel should have given vent to any 
endearing expressions in it that might draw down the vials 
of her mother^s wrath on their devoted heads. 

She took it from Mrs. Vernon’s hand, but was too par- 
alyzed by her emotions to attempt to open it. 

“ Read it,” said her mother, suavely. You must an- 
swer it. I shall tell you what to say.” And Mrs. Vernon 
was obliging enough to turn away to the window, in order 
to mitigate her timorous daughter’s confusion. 

Dulcie comprehended her lover’s stratagem. There had 
been no question of his sending her any song, but she 
understood that it was a device on his part to write to her, 
and an intimation where he might be addressed.” 

Her mother gave her plenty of time to read the note be- 
fore she returned to the table. 

“ I dare say,” she remarked, quite affably, “ that Mr. 
Trevor is an excellent young man; but I do not wish him 
to entertain any mistaken ideas that might lead to disap- 
pointment later on: so I will make a little draft of a note, 
and when the song arrives you shall write it and send it 
off.” 

Dulcie answered not a word. She sat holding the letter 
and looking at the fire. Mrs. Vernon took this silence as 
implying complete submission. She had not, indeed, ex- 
pected any resistance from her habitually docile daughter. 
But then Dulcie had never yet been, or fancied herself, in 
love. 

Resolute people with strong wills are very often unpre- 
pared for the commonest weapon of the weak— deceit. 
When they command and their victim appears passive, they 
too often take it for granted that their will has triumphed 
and is acquiesced in. 

Mrs. Vernon came up to Dulcie and kissed her, feeling 
all the benevolence of a generous victor. 

_ You know, dear child,” she said, ‘‘ my first object in 
life is your happiness.” 

And with a kind little pressure on Dulcie’s shoulder, and 


OKCE AGAIN. 


11 


scarcely remarking that her embrace was not returned, or, 
if she did, making allowance for the girhs disappointment, 
she went ojff light-heartedly to her boudoir, to make the 
draft that was to crush Mr. Trevor's presumptuous hopes. 

A dull feeling of rebellion surged in slow waves over Dul- 
cie's heart. Why was she to submit to her mother's fiat in 
a matter so all-important to her? She loved Noel; he 
loved her: why should their young hearts be blighted for 
, the sake of ambition.^ If her mother had outgrown all 
memories of love and youth (Dulcie took leave to doubt 
. whether there were any such episodes to be remembered), 
why was she to be condemned to a life without romance? 
Why should she be sacrificed to vanity and ambition? She 
felt sure — with smothered resentment — that if any horrid 
old wretch with a title or a great deal of money came for- 
ward as a suitor, her mother would be ready to drive her to 
the altar in spite of herself. Vague thoughts of resistance 
flitted through the girl's brain, but she had sufficient con- 
sciousness of her own weakness to realize that a hand-to- 
hand combat with her mother would leave her vanquished 
and weaponless before a minute had elapsed. 

She would write the letter that her mother dictated; she 
would seem to acquiesce; but, before that, she would write 
another letter on her own account, explaining to Noel that 
the one he would receive later was simply sent at her moth- 
er's dictation, and was in no way to be taken as the expres- 
sion of her own sentiments. 

Mrs. Vernon returned, draft in hand, before Dulcie had 
finished her cogitations. 

“ Come, dear, and write it at once: then it will be done 
with!" said mamma, persuasively. 

And Dulcie, still without a word, follored her mother to 
the boudoir, and, sitting down at the writing-table, indited 
the following lines to Mr. Trevor: 

“ Dear Mr. Trevor, — I have just received the song. 
Thank you for sending it. We are not going out in the 
evening at present, as my mother has a cold, and we do not 
walk in the Park in the winter. 

“ Believe me, yours truly, 

‘ ^ Dulcie V ernon. ' ' 

Mrs. Vernon had thought it quite possible that Dulcie 
would remonstrate about the extreme coldness and formal- 


12 


OKCE AGAIN. 


ity of the note, and was agreeably surprised to see her copy- 
ing it without comment. When it was finished and tlie 
envelope directed, she lighted a taper and fixed a neat little 
red seal to it to make quite sure that it should not be tam- 
pered with. 

^^Imust go out this fine morning,’^ remarked Dulcie, 
her task finished, and her mother responded, cheerfully — 

Yes, do, my dear. Morton shall go with you. You 
do not want to start before twelve, I suppose? It is a 
quarter to eleven now. Will you not practice your singing 
a little first?^^ 

But Dulcie had something else to do than to practice 
singing. She retired to her bedroom and wrote another — • 
quite a different — letter to Mr. Trevor. A certain amount 
of fear and conscious guilt trembled at her heart. She had 
never written to a young man before. But the idea had 
taken firmly hold of her that she had a right to bestow her 
heart where she chose, and that if she was doing a bold and 
wrong thing her mother had driven her to it. 

Although her door was locked her heart palpitated very 
distinctly as she wrote the words ‘‘ Dearest Noel,^^ and al- 
most involuntarily she glanced over her shoulder to make 
sure that no one was standing behind her. Keassured, she 
continued: 

Mamma has made me write the mosif horrid note in 
answer to yours. Of course I was obliged to do as she told 
me, but you will understand — wonT you? — that it is not 
my fault. WasnT it wretched yesterday not being able to 
say a word to each other alone? It hardly ever happens 
that we do not have three or four people calling in the 
afternoon. I suppose mamma suspects something, and she 
thinks of nothing but money and position, and is always 
saying that love is all nonsense, and that people are sure to 
be unhapjiy if they are poor, whereas if they are rich, and 
get tired of each other, or doiiT get on, they have other 
things to fall back upon. IsnT it horrid I She wonT let 
me go near the Park, I know, for fear I should meet you; 
but I mean to walk every morning now up Bond Street, 
through Cavendish Square, and up Portland Place to the 
Eegent^s Park, a place I hate, but I shall not hate it if I 
meet you there. Morton, our maid, always walks out with 
me, but she is a good old thing, and won’t tell of us, I 


ON-CE AGAIN-. 


13 


know. Of course you won^t come to-day because you won’t 
^et this in time; but I shall look forward to seeing you to- 
morrow. Always, dearest Noel, yours, 

Dulcie. 

“P.S. — Write to me and direct the envelope to Mrs. 
Morton in a feigned hand, and don’t write on those en- 
velopes with the club crest. ” 

Dulcie addressed her letter, unlocked the door, and, like 
a good, obedient daughter, went into the drawing-room 
and began to practice her scales. 

Meantime Mrs. Vernon gave strict injunctions to Morton 
that she was not to walk in Piccadilly or near the Row with 
Miss Dulcie. They might go toward the Marble Arch, Ox- 
ford Street, or the Regent’s Park. She even gave the maid 
a commission to execute at Marshall and Snelgrove’s en 
route. And, while this astute lady made her plans and 
laid her parallels, she was innocent of the remotest sus- 
picion that her guileless young daughter was similarly em- 
ployed. 

Morton was a comely and comfortable-looking woman of 
five-and -forty, of a romantic turn, and with a very un- 
evenly balanced mind. All her spare time and a good deal 
of time that she ought not to have spared was devoted to 
novel-reading, and many a time her eyes were red from 
crying over the woes of lovers. She had the leaning toward 
intrigue that is the natural bent of Abigails, and it would 
have been impossible to find a more imprudent or ill-advised 
counselor for a young girl who had not a very sound head. 
She belonged to that class of people who commit the most 
serious mischief in the world — those who “ don’t mean any 
harm.” But she was also of a wavering and irresolute 
nature, and, though she might be tempted into danger by 
sentiment, she would not, it is feared, have scrupled to 
scramble out again, leaving her accomplices in the lurch. 


CHAPTER II. 

Morton- had attended Dulcie on her visit to Mrs. Faw- 
cett, and knew, therefore, something about Mr. Trevor and 
her young lady’s predilection for liim. He had spoken very 
pleasantly to her on one or two occasions when they had 
met on the staircase, and civil words from good-looking 


14 


OKCE AGAIN. 


young men always produced their full effect on her sympa- 
thetic nature. Dulcie had, therefore, no need of prelimi- 
nary statement or explanation; so, the moment they issued 
from the portals of the house she broke the ice. 

‘‘Morton, what a shame of you to take my letter to 
mamma this morning 

“ Lor^ miss,'’^ expostulated Morton, “what was I to do? 
Your ma told me to bring her all the letters; and how was 
I to know anything about it, or that you hadn^t asked her 
to look at yours, as she is earlier than you?'’"’ 

“You might have been sharp enough to guess, said 
Bulcie, not yet propitiated. 

“ Well, miss, but youWe never had a letter from a gen- 
tleman in your life before, protested Morton. 

“ All the more reason I should have it brought me when 
it did come!’"’ retorted Dulcie. “ I call it most unkind and 
unfair of mamma, and I don^t see what right she has to 
open my letters. You remember that nice Mr. Trevor at 
Lowlands, Morton?” 

“ Yes, miss. 

“ Well, he called yesterday, and mamma was very^tiff 
and formal with him, and, as ill luck would have it, no 
one else came in, and I could not get a word alone with 
him. So then he went off to his club and wrote to me. ” 

“ LorM” said Morton, again making use of her favorite 
ejaculation. “ And your ma opened it?^^ 

“ Of course there was nothing in it that mamma might 
not see,^^ observed Dulcie. “ He was much too clever for 
that. He first made an excuse about sending me a song, 
and asked whether he might not go to a play with us, or if 
we did not walk in the Eow. Mamma made me write the 
most horrid letter in answer, but — Swear, Morton, you 
won’t tell if I tell you something?” 

Morton’s eyes gleamed with interest and curiosity. 

“ I won’t tell,” she answered, promptly. 

Dulcie drew the letter from her pocket. 

“ I have written him another,” she said, triumphantly. 

They were close to a pillar-box, and she hurried a step 
forward and popped it in. Morton gasped. She had never 
suspected her young lady to be capable of such temerity. 

Oh, dear! what would your ma say if she knew?” 

“ But she won’t know, unless you tell her,” replied 
Dulcie; “and you couldn’t be such a wretch as that. 


ON'CE AGAHq". 


15 


And, what is more, you are to do something very important 
indeed for us. 

‘‘ I am?^^ said Morton, flattered. 

iJulcie sunk her voice to a whisper. 

‘‘ He is gomg to write to me and direct the letters to 
you. 

Morton looked rather overwhelmed for a moment. But 
she soon made up her mind to play nurse to this Romeo 
and J uliet, and took the utmost interest in the little drama 
she was to assist at. 

You see, he will be going away in a month or two,^' 
said Dulcie, judiciously suppressing any mention of serious 
intentions, “ to India. 

Poor young gentleman remarked Morton, pathetical- 
ly. ‘‘ Very likely he^ll never come back, or, if he does, 
he^ll be as yaller as a guinea. 

In the evening, as Dulcie sat reading her novel, and Mrs. 
Vernon gently dozed, the postman’s thunder was heard, 
and an intuition made Dulcie ’s breast palpitate at the 
thought that something very precious had found its way 
into the house through the slit in the door. 

She dared not go in quest of it, but remained on tenter- 
hooks while the butler brought up a couple of letters for 
her mother, and departed again. Two or threo minutes 
elapsed, then the door opened softly to admit Morton with 
a suspiciously demure countenance. She came up to Dul- 
cie, and, under pretext of not disturbing Mrs. Vernon, 
whispered, 

I came to ask you, miss, where you would like the 
bows put on that lace skirt.” And then she gave a sig- 
nificant little nod and pointed to her pocket. 

“ I will come and show you,” replied Dulcie, rising 
promptly; and the conspirators went out together. 

“ Oh, you dear, good Morton!” cried Dulcie, in a sup- 
pressed whisper, as the maid handed her a substantial letter 
addressed to Mrs. Morton. 

“I’ve lighted your candles,”* said the maid, and pro- 
ceeded down-stairs to resume her supper, without any fur- 
ther allusion to dress or bows. 

And Dulcie, locking herself in her room, read her first 
love-letter with an ecstasy which I need not perhaps pause 
to describe. Suffice it to say that the missive was not 


16 


ONCE AGAIN. 


original^ and that the word ‘‘ darling did not recur more 
than twelve times. 

No uneasy prescience of evil, no misgiving of any sort or 
kind, visited Mrs. Vernon as she dozed delightfully in her 
luxurious chair. Could she but have guessed that a few 
yards above her head her lovely daughter's breast was pal- 
pitating over the impassioned sentences of her young 
adorer, or shall we say, as mamma would have said, the 
idiotic rhodomontade of a penniless young fool!^-’ 

Noel expressed his intention of wearing out the pavement 
(or the soles of his boots) in Portland Place awaiting his 
beloved. He had always hitherto thought it a*" singularly 
dull street, but now, henceforth and forever, it would be 
the most heavenly spot on earth, etc., etc. Strange, Dul- 
cie reflected, how les beaux esprifs se rencontrent. She, 
too, had always thought Portland Place so dull; but now! 

As in this world there is always an alloy to bliss, Dulcie, 
her first raptures over, began to be tormented by fears 
about the weather. The climate of our dear old England 
is not reliable, especially in the month of November. Sup- 
pose it should rain in torrents the next morning, or that 
•the new-found El Dorado, Portland Place, shoud be en- 
veloped in a yellow fog. Weather would not keep Dulcie 
from her lover, but it might deter her mother from giving 
con'sent to the accustomed morning walk. Still, there was 
the letter, which in itself was sufficient aliment for love to 
feed on for at least a week, and whenever the weather did 
give her a chance, Noel would of a certainty be found at 
their trysting-place; had he not sworn it? 

With light heart and step as though she trod on air, 
Dulcie returned to the drawing-room — naughty Dulcie! — 
looking as innocent as Miss Puss who has had a surrepti- 
tious lap at the cream- jug. 

Mrs. Vernon was awake by this time, and engaged' in 
reading What the World says."’"’ 

‘‘ By the way,^^ she remarked, presently, looking up, 
“ did not I hear you and Morton talking about your dress? 
What have you decided 

Dulcie turned aside to blush. The first steps along the 
path of deceit are not smooth to the novice. She hesitated 
and stammered a little, and was terrified lest her mother 
should remark her confusion. 


ONCE AGAIN. 17 

‘‘ It — it is not quite— quite settled/’ she replied. “ ^Ye 
think we shall be able to judge better by daylight.” 

Mrs. Vernon, having just arrived at a paragraph that 
interested her, did not remark Dulcie’s embarrassment. 
After a considerable pause, she asked another question. 

“ Did the song come, after all?” 

‘‘Yes, mamma.” 

“ And you sent off the note?” 

“ Yes, mamma.” 

“ What is the song?’ 

Dulcie hesitated. 

“ ‘ Golden Love,’ ” she said, reluctantly. 

“ But you have it! Let me look!” 

Dulcie brought it. 

“ And set for a contralto!” remarked Mrs. Vernon. 

But she put it down without further comment. Of 
course she had known all along that it was only a ruse on 
the young man’s part. But he must be rather a silly 
young man. 

After all, ihe fates were propitious. The following 
morning was bright, and even sunshiny as sunshine goes 
in London in November. Full of glee, Dulcie set forth, 
accompanied by Morton, on whom something of her own 
excitement was reflected. 

“ If your mamma was to jflnd it out!” she said, half-way 
up Bond Street, in rather a Cassandra-like voice; but Dul- 
cie pooh-poohed the idea in a light-hearted way. 

In Cavendish Square the impatient Borneo was pacing. 
It was a sight to see how those two comely young counte- 
nances were transfigured and glorified as they simultaneously 
caught sight of each other. The romantic Morton heaved 
a sigh which halted between sympathy and envy. She 
loitered a little behind ; but Dulcie had sufficient sense of 
the proprieties to know what a bad effect this would have 
should they by any unlucky chance be seen, and summoned 
her attendant promptly to her side. The first few moments 
of natural ge}ie over, the maid was of no more account as 
an auditor to Noel and Dulcie than the wall to Pyramus 
and Thisbe, only that, mercifully, they were both on the 
right side of her. 

And Morton, pretending to look the other way, was 
listening with the deepest interest, and heard every word 
that passed. Indeed,' there was nothing which any one 


18 


ONCE AGAIN. 


except a mamma with ambitious views for her daughter 
might not have heard; for Dulcie was a modest, well- 
brought-up young lady, and Noel was animated by the 
most honest if ardent love, and looked up to his idol with 
the reverence that a nice-minded young fellow always en- 
tertains for the girl he loves — as long as she allows him. 

Every day for a whole week Phoebus smiled his wintery, 
far-off smile on this happy pair: their hearts supplied the 
warmth he lacked. Then for three days he hid himself, 
and the town was veiled in a hideous black fog, and one 
side of Portland Place could not see the other side, and 
Mrs. Vernon would not hear of Dulcie going out. 

Morton made a martyr of herself in a good cause, and 
caught a severe cold by going to meet Mr. Trevor in her 
young lady^’s place, and Noel, generous like most im- 
pecunious youths, made her a present ill proportioned to 
his means. 

It was at this juncture, when he had reached the highest 
point of love- madness, that a friend of his arrived in Lon- 
don en route for the Cape — a friend not possessed of the 
highest principles or animated by very nice or delicate 
scruples. 

For three days Noel had not set eyes on his darling (by 
the way, this delightful term of endearment is getting sadly' 
hackneyed by frequent use in the ballads of the day). He 
was burning to talk about her, after the manner of his 
kind when in love, and he pounced on this “ pal as a 
drowning man would have pounced on a plank, and poured 
his love and woes, with joy unspeakable, into the ears 
which seemed to listen kindly. 

He was only interrupted by a few pertinent questions. 

Has the girl got any stuff?’ was the first. 

Noel was shocked at the coarse brutality of the ques- 
tion. He was far too much in love not to think “ stuff ” 
a hinderance rather than otherwise to the charms of liis 
adored one. 

I don’t know or care,” he replied. 

“ But has she?” persisted the other. 

Noel dared not offend his friend, and made answer, 

I suppose she will have. She is an only child, and, her 
mother appears to be very well off.” 

Run away with her,” said the friend, tersely. 

Noel’s eyes brightened. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


19 


I wish to Heaven I could he exclaimed. “ But — 
relapsing into despondency — ‘‘ there ""s no Gretna Green.'’’ 

“ There’s the "registry office, which is a good deal hand- 
ier. ” 

Noel contemplated his friend with a mixture of awe and 
admiration. 

“ Nothing simpler. You’ve only got to swear that she 
is of age and has no parents, and to give notice a fortnight 
or so bejorehand.” 

‘‘ But could not one be had up for perjury?” gasped 
Noel. 

‘ ‘ The registrar won’t bother his head. And, once it is 
done, it can’t be undone, you know.” 

“ But she looks so young.” 

She can put on a thick veil,” said Mephistopheles. 

Poor Faust, though his intentions were strictly honora- 
ble, felt as though he was being incited to the blackest of 
crimes. But the temptation was overwhelming. 

Dulcie to be his! Dulcie to go out to India with him! 
Oh, rapture! 

His friend was, as has been said, unscrupulous. He had 
a liking for Noel, and thought he was helping him to a 
good thing. Seeing the impression he had made, he con- 
tinued his persuasions as warmly as though he had some 
personal object to gain by Noel’s elopement. And Noel, 
after the first shock of horror, took very kindly to the idea; 
and, though lying and deceit were extremely repugnant to 
his honest young mind, he looked leniently on his tempter’s 
argument that ‘‘ all is fair in love and war.” 

The following morning a brisk wind arose and dispersed 
the fog, and, with a high-beating heart, Noel flew to the 
rendezvous, where Dulcie was even before him. 

Noel was divided between rapture and timidity, for he 
held Dulcie in that awe and reverence which a right-minded 
young man feels for a girl in whose purity and modesty he 
has a devout belief, and he trembled lest she should turn 
indignantly upon him when he broached the daring scheme 
that his friend had suggested. Not that he was going to 
shelter himself behind that friend: it would not do to let 
Dulcie guess for a moment that he had discussed her with 
any living soul. Haltingly, timorously, he approached his 
subject, and presently, encouraged by a gleam of intelli- 
gence in Dulcie’ s eyes and the smile on her pretty lips, he 


20 


OXCE AGAIN. 


plunged boldly, fervently, ardently, into his ap2)eal, and, 
with an eloquence of which he had not suspected himself 
capable, implored, urged, entreated. 

The romance and daring of the idea commended them- 
selves to Dulcie. Having begun the downward course of 
deceiving her mother, she gathered daily fresh impetus in 
her descent, and was almost prepared to clear the remain- 
ing obstacles at a bound. 

Though she did not straightway consent, she lent an 
evidently willing ear to her lover^s suggestions, and 
promised to think over what he had said. When Noel 
parted from her, he seemed to tread on air; in his im- 
agination this priceless pearl was his already, and he be- 
stirred himself to consider all the arrangements that it 
would be necessary for him to make in view of this 
ardently desired union with his beloved. Naturally, the 
first thought which assailed him was the absolute necessity 
of ready money. He had only one hundred and fifty 
pounds a year besides his pay, and to forestall that would, 
he knew, be madness. His mother had left him a few dia- 
monds and some plate. He had been fond of her, and it 
I'.ost him a severe pang to think of parting with these 
things, which she had set great value on; but it was his 
only alternative. 

It was rather fortunate for him that he took his friend. 
Captain Black, into confidence on this subject also. 

“ Ifil see to it for you, if you like, ^Mie said. Tm a 

very good hand at a bargain, and I expect you are a 
precious bad one, and these, jewelers are the most con- 
founded thieves. 

Noel gratefully accepted this offer of service, got the 
plate-chest and jewel-box from his banker^s, and intrusted 
them to his friend. He was exceedingly pleased when 
Black the same evening presented him with bank-notes to 
the amount of two hundred and five pounds. True, the 
things had probably cost three times that amount, but, as 
every one knows who has the smallest experience on the 
subject, buying is one thing and selling another. And it 
is perfectly certain that had Noel gone bargaining himself 
the result would have been far less satisfactory. He im- 
mediately proceeded to expend the odd fiver in a present to 
his friend, and next day handed over the greater portion of 
the remaining two hundred to his banker ^s safe keeping. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


21 


^Then he went joyously to the tryst with his belov^ed. They 
‘walked to the inner circle of the Regen t^s Park, and, as no 
one else was visible, Morton fell back several paces. 

My darling,^" said Koel, with eyes and voice full of 
feeling, “ I hope you will never regret trusting your dear 
self to me. You know that I am a poor man. The one 
thought which troubles me is that you may miss the com- 
forts and luxury to which you have been accustomed. You 
know I should not consider the whole world good enough 
for you, my angel, cried the ardent lover: “it is an 
awful blow to me to think you will have to give up so much 
for my sake. 

But Dulcie, with a bright smile, reassured him. 

“ Indeed, she pleaded, prettily, “I do not care at all 
about money. Mamma has talked and insisted so much 
upon it that I hate the very idea of marrying a rich man. 
I am not worldly, as she is, and all the people I have been 
introduced to who were good matches have been horrid, 
stupid, uninteresting creatures. 

“ I am afraid, said Noel, with a pang, “ that it will be 
a dreadful blow to your poor mother losing you.'’^ 

“ Y^es, I dare say she wonT like it,^-’ assented Dulcie, 
rather unfeelingly. “ But, if she only studies her own am- 
bition and not my happiness, I donT see why I should con- 
sider her so much. ” 

This argument comforted Noel. 

After one or two more interviews, Dulcie consented to 
the marriage at the registry office. Captain Black was arch- 
conspirator, aider, and abettor. 

“ The old woman will be in a deuce of a rage at first, of 
course,/^ he said, consolingly, “but if she^s clever shea’ll 
probably end by saying, ‘ Bless you, my children!' and 
making the best of it. After that she will no doubt ^ fork 
out,' which is the great point." 

If it had not been for this Mephistopheles always at hand, 

I am not sure that Noel would have carried the matter 
through to the end, so stoutly did his conscience combat 
the proceeding. But Black argued and advised as though 
he had some personal object to gain by the marriage. 
His motive, however, was simply that of a self-willed and 
resolute person who, when he takes up a matter and gives 
advice, feels his amour-propre concerned in its being acted 
upon. 


22 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Dulcie, like many placid and amiable people without 
much character, was extremely tenacious and obstinate.* 
She had taken it into her head to feel aggrieved and resent- 
ful against her mother. No pang of remorse visited her on 
the subject of the grief she was about to bring on Mrs. 
Vernon: she told herself that it was entirely her mother^s 
fault for not allowing her to see and love the man of her 
choice. She would not be sacrificed to any one^s am- 
bition. 

Morton was the one to be fiurried and anxious. She 
foresaw terrible consequences for herself: she would no 
cfoubt be discharged without a character when the denoue- 
ment occurred, and her complicity with it was discovered. 
Still, she could not see any possible way out of it, having 
• gone so far. 


CHAPTEE III. 

The wedding-day arrived. Things seldom happen in 
the manner which we anticipate, and Dulcie, who, like 
most young maidens, had occasionally thought of herself 
as the heroine of such a ceremonial, had pictured the event 
as taking place at St. George^ s with some pomp, a bevy of 
bride-maids and troops of wedding guests. But she felt no 
regret on the morning of her marriage-day at the absence 
of these conventional circumstances; indeed, the flavor lent 
by strategy and secrecy was more agreeably stimulating 
and exciting than mere commonplace preparations would 
have been. 

Having thoroughly assured herself by appeal to Noel 
that marriage in a registry office was as legal and binding 
as though it were performed in Westminster Abbey by an 
archbishop, she troubled herself no more about the matter, 
and, indeed, congratulated herself that there was no fuss 
and trouble to be gone through. Perhaps a shadow of re- 
gret stole into her heart at being compelled to forego the 
trousseau buying, and it occurred to her that it was hardly 
fair she should be done out of wedding-presents, of which 
many were owing to her in return for her own and her 
mother^s gifts on similar occasions; but she reflected that 
people who had consciences could just as well send their 
contributions after the event as before. 


OKCE AGAIET. 


23 


No obstacle intervened to prevent her being at the place 
of rendezvous, where Noel, as eager and gallant a young 
bridegroom as wintery sun ever shone upon, received her in 
a seventh heaven of bliss. The short, unimpressive cere- 
mony was gone through, and, hey, presto! Miss Dulcie 
Vernon was Mrs. Noel Trevor. 

They had thought it expedient to put the sea between 
themselves and Mrs. Vernon for a few days, and immedi- 
ately stepped into a hansom and ordered the man to drive 
to Noehs rooms to pick up his luggage. Morton had the 
night before taken a small trunk containing some portion 
of her young lady^s wardrobe to the railway-station, to be 
left till called for. Everything seemed to favor the run- 
away couple. Noel wildly, Dulcie placidly, happy, were 
beaming smiles upon each other, when, lo! Nemesis over- 
took them. 

They were turning a corner rather smartly, when down 
went the horse on the greasy wood pavement, and both 
were flung forward; but Noel, throwing his arm round 
Dulcie, soon put her back in her place, tenderly reassuring 
her. Meantime, the horse made two violent efforts to re- 
cover himself, and, having gained his feet, was trotting off 
again, when Noel, hearing an exclamation from the driver, 
looked up. 

‘‘ Good God!^^ he cried, ‘‘ he has slipped his bridle!^^ and 
on the impulse of the moment, thinking only of Dulcie^s 
safety, he made a dash out of the cab to get to the animaDs 
head. His heel caught the edge of the platform, and he 
was dashed violently on the pavement. The horse quick- 
ened his pace, the driver shouted for some one to stop him. 
Dulcie saw two or three men run forward, felt a sudden 
collision against the wheel of another vehicle, was again 
ffung forward, and then she remembered nothing more. 

When she came to her senses, she found herself in a 
rather dingy parlor, with two strange men standing over 
her. Her first emotion was a dull surprise; then, as some 
recollection of the events of the morning stole across her, 
she was seized with terror. 

“ Where am I? What has happened she asked of the 
elder of the two men, a kindly, rather pompous-looking 
individual. 

You are in good hands, ma'am, he replied, reassur- 
ingly. 


24 


ONCE AGAIN. 


It was the first time Dulcie had ever been addressed as 
“ma^am.^"’ The color mounted to her cheek, and she 
wondered how this man could possibly know she was mar- 
ried. For the moment, she did not remark that her gloves 
had been removed, letting the wedding-ring tell its tale. 

“ Your hansom was stopped just in front here— quite 
providential, one may say.^^ 

“And where — gasped Dulcie, “ where — 

“ Ah! the poor gentleman, you mean. He is at St. 
George \s Hospital before now.^^ 

“ Is — he — dead?^^ 

Dulcie turned ashy pale, and looked as though she would 
faint again. 

“No, no, no!^^ replied the chemist. “ I hope not. He 
has got a severe blovy on the head, and I dare say wonT be 
conscious for some time. I expect he has concussion of 
the brain; but there! he^s in the best place he can be, and 
everything that can be done for him, will. 

Dulcie closed her eyes for a minute or two to think. 
She was a coward by nature — quite unfitted to stand alone. 
When she gave up relying on her mother, she had taken 
Noel as her support; but now, with him lying insensible at 
the hospital, what should she do? To whom could she 
turn? She shrunk from going to St. George ^s, under the 
circumstances, and proclaiming herself his wife. No; 
there was only one thing to be done. She must go back 
home. They could not unmarry her now, and even her 
mother’s anger was not so terrible to her as being thrown 
alone ujDon the world. Besides, she had only a sovereign 
in her purse. 

The chemist, fearing a return of her fainting-fit, was 
again applying restoratives; but Dulcie was perfectly con- 
scious now, and her supreme anxiety was to get away. 

She opened her eyes. 

“ Thank you very much,” she said. “I am quite well 
now. I should like to go home and — and see about send- 
ing to the hospital about my — brother. What” — hesitat- 
ing, and putting her hand in her pocket — “ what am I in 
your debt?” 

“ Nothing; nothing at all,” returned the chemist, em- 
phatically. “ I am very pleased, ma’am, to have been of 
service. Perhaps you will allow me to see you home, as 
you seem a little shaky still?” 


ONCE AGAIN. 25 

No, thank you very much/^ returned Dulcie, hurried- 
ly. “ I am quite, quite well now.^^ 

Shall I send for a cab? Best have a four-wheeler, I 
think, ma^am. 

''Oh, yes; thank you.^" And the assistant was dis- 
patched to stop one. 

" Thank you very, very much,^" she said, when the mas- 
ter put her into the cab; and he replied, 

"Not at all; not at all, ma^am. DonT speak of it. 
Where shall I tell him?^^ 

A sudden instinct prompted Dulcie not to give her own 
address, and she mentioned a number in Brook Street, and, 
alighting there, hastened home on foot. 

Mrs. Vernon was looking out of the window, alarmed at 
her daughter’s unaccountable absence. She ran to the 
door and admitted her. 

"Why, Dulcie — ” she- began, sharply; then, at sight of 
her daughter’s white face, bent bonnet, and disarranged 
dress, she paused, aghast. 

The conflicting emotions, anguish about Noel, and fear 
of her mother were too much for Dulcie. She had only 
time to totter into the dining-room, where she fainted 
again. 

Mrs. Vernon took her in her arms, dragged her to the 
sofa, and was about in her terror to summon assistance, 
when she caught sight of Dulcie’s hand with the significant 
emblem upon it. She felt as though turned to stone; then, 
stooping, she drew it from the unresisting hand, slipped it 
into her pocket, and rang the bell violently. Running to 
the door, she bade the butler bring water, and call Morton 
to come at once with smelling-salts. 

Morton came, shaking like a leaf. The moment Mrs. 
Vernon glanced at her, she saw that the woman looked 
guilty and frightened, and guessed that she knew of the 
dreadful catastrophe. ' But the butler was in the room. 
He volunteered to fetch the doctor; but Mrs. Vernon was 
too much afraid of what Dulcie might reveal on returning 
to consciousness to risk the presence of a third person. 

Dulcie was not long in recovering her senses this time, 
and as soon as she did so fell into violent hysterics. She 
encouraged them, as they staved off explanations for the 
time. Mrs. Vernon had sent Morton out of the room the 
instant Dulcie showed signs of life. 


26 


ONCE AGAIl^. 


‘‘ What has happened to you, Dulcie?^^ she asked, again 
and again; but Dulcie only moaned, and sobbed, and 
turned her head away, refusing to answer. 

Mrs. Vernon was at her wits’ end. All sorts of fearful 
possibilities chased each other through her brain. The 
suspense was more than she could bear. She left Dulcie 
sobbing and gasping in the dining-room, and summoned 
Morton to her boudoir. 

Now,” she said, in her coldest, sternest manner, which 
was indeed very awe-inspiring, ‘‘ what does all this mean?” 

If her manner had been less severe, Morton would 
probably have fallen at her feet and confessed; now she 
was too much frightened to say a word, and, fearing some 
dreadful disgrace for herself, some vengeance on the part 
of her mistress, declared and protested her ignorance. 

Mrs. Vernon was not deceived for a moment; but she 
had a cool head and plenty of common sense. It was of 
vital importance, she felt, to keep this dreadful affair 
secret: if she turned Morton out-of-doors, as she felt in- 
clined to do, everything would come out at once, and there 
would be an esclandre, a thing that Mrs. Vernon dreaded 
even more than small-pox. So, finding nothing was to be 
got out of her maid, she left her, and returned to her 
daughter, who at once recommenced the sobs and cries 
which she had suspended during her mother’s absence. 

Mrs. Vernon changed her tactics. She asked no more 
questions, but, sitting dowm beside the couch, bathed Dul- 
cie’s forehead with eau-de-Cologne, and endeavored to pos- 
sess her soul in patience. The girl would have to be coaxed, 
that was evident; though her mamma would have infinitely 
preferred to box her ears and assail her with bitter words. 

It was past luncheon- time, and the butler came in, and 
with a mysterious and sympathetic air — he had lived some 
time in the family — asked whether it should not be served. 

Mrs. Vernon assented. 

“ Do not let James come in,” she said. 

James was the footman. 

In kind tones, Dulcie’s mother begged her to eat, or at 
all events to drink some wine; but Dulcie obstinately shook 
her head and continued, like Hezekiah, to turn her face to 
the wall. Her anxiety about Noel increased every moment; 
she could not forget seeing him hurled to the ground; a 
terror seized her that he was dead. How was she to find 


ON^CE AGAIN’. 27 

-out? She longed to see Morton and implore her to run to 
the hospital for news. 

“ I will go upstairs/^ she said, presently, rising slowly 
from the sofa. 

Mrs. Vernon was really shocked to see how white and ill 
she looked. 

I will go with you, my dear,^^ she said, putting her 
daughter's hand through her arm. 

When they reached Dulcie^s room, the girl asked that 
Morton might be sent to her. 

Mrs. Vernon thought best to comply with this request, 
and retired to her own room, which adjoined her daugh- 
ter’s. Notliing could be more repugnant to this lady’s 
proud nature than eavesdropping; but on this occasion, 
overpowered by anxiety, she crept near the door that com- 
municated between the two rooms and listened intently in 
the hope of getting some clew from the conversation of her 
daughter and Morton. It was soon evident from their 
smothered voices that they had taken this contingency into 
consideration: only a word here and there was audible; it 
was by the tone of their voices alone that the distracted 
mother could gain any hint as to what was passing. Mor- 
ton’s betrayed fear, anxiety, curiosity, Uulcie’s despair; her 
sobs had begun again. 

Mrs. Vernon was racked with apprehension: she must 
find out what had happened; and she presently set herself 
to think, with what calmness she might, over the best 
means of wresting this dreadful secret from one of the pair. 
She saw now that she had made a mistake in frightening 
Morton; she must try gentler tactics. 

Descending to her boudoir, she rang and desired that her 
maid^ might be sent to her. She commanded her face and 
voice with a su})reme etfort, and when Morton came in 
looking frightened though obstinate, she was quite taken 
aback by the gentleness of her lady’s voice and manner. 

‘‘ Morton,” began Mrs. Vernon, “ I am very much dis- 
tressed to see Miss Dulcie in this agitated state. Of course 
I am aware that you are to a certain extent in her confi- 
dence, and I must put it to your good feeling whether it is 
right that I, her mother, should be kept in suspense and 
in ignorance of what has happened to her.” 

Morton subsided into helpless tears; this tone of appeal 
from her haughty lady affected her visibly. 


28 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Mrs. Vernon saw her advantage, and pressed it. 

“ Yon have been with me for some years now/^ she con- 
tinued, more gently still. ‘‘ You know how entirely de- 
voted I am to Miss Dulcie, and you surely can not be so 
heartless as to let me go on suffering this dreadful anxiety 
about her. What is all this mystery?” 

Morton sobbed. She was emotional; every word Mrs. 
Vernon uttered pierced her like a stab. She was beginning 
to be conscious of the terrible enormity she had committed, 
especially now that this affair, which she had thought so 
romantic, had culminated in such a terrible catastrophe. 
Her superstitious mind saw a “ judgment ” in it. With 
the proneness of her order to look at the darkest side, she 
felt sure the poor young gentleman was killed. 

Dulcie had implored her to go to the hospital and make 
inquiries, but she was afraid to do this. Of the two dread- 
ful alternatives, she almost preferred to confess her partici- 
pation in Dulcie^s guilt to Dulcie^ smother than to have the 
terrible secret, with perhaps its dreadful consequences, on 
her mind. At worst by confessing she could lose her place, 
and she was shrewd enough to see that Mrs. Vernon could 
not refuse to give her a character without betraying mat- 
ters which she would not care to have disclosed. 

So, amidst many tears and sighs and groans, she related 
the story jn outline, ending with the death (of which she 
was quite certain) of the poor young gentleman. Mrs. 
Veriio?! was absolutely paralyzed by the recital. She felt 
as though her sensea^had been stunned by a violent blow. 
Dulcie — her good, obedient daughter, without, as she had 
imagined, any will of her own — Dulcie to have taken a step 
of which scarcely one girl in a thousand would have been 
callable! She had never protested her love, never rebelled 
for one moment against her mother’s fiat that she was not 
to see Noel any more, but had simply walked out of the 
house and married him! 

Kepressing, with an almost superhuman effort, her wrath 
against Morton, she said, in an unnaturally quiet voice — 

“ You had better go back to Miss Dulcie, and remain 
with her. I will have inquiries made about — at the hospi- 
tal. I suppose it is unnecessary to caution you against al- 
lowing a word of this to be known in the house. If— if 
Mr. Trevor is killed, perhaps nothing ever need be known. ” 


OKCE AGAIN". 


29 


Morton retired, hardly able to believe that no worse thing 
had befallen her. 

Mrs. Vernon, left Mone, leaned back in her chair, closed 
her eyes, and gave herself over to meditation. All her 
fondest hopes destroyed — her ambition crashed! And what 
dreadful disgrace might not come upon her! If this man 
died, there would probably be an inquest. The whole thing 
would be published in the papers. Her daughter’s name 
would be dragged through the mire. Suddenly it occurred 
to her that the marriage might not be legal, after all. 
Hulcie was a ward in chancery. She resolved to go at once 
to her lawyer, who was an old and trusted friend and a 
bachelor. Hastily she put on her bonnet. The brougham, 
which she had ordered for three o’clock, must have been at 
the door some time. 

Mr. Benson, her solicitor, had chambers within ten min- 
utes’ drive of Grosvenor Street. She was fortunate enough 
to find him at home and alone, and was ushered imme- 
diately into his presence. 

“ Mr. Benson,” she said, the instant the door closed upon 
the clerk, “ I am in dreadful trouble.” 

Mr. Benson had never seen his handsome, distinguished 
client so agitated. He entertained a great regard for her 
— she was such a sensible woman, with such an excellent ■ 
head, such sound judgment. She never took up his time 
when he was busy with chattering about irrelevant matter, 
as most ladies are in the habit of doing, but always kept to 
the point — knew what she wanted, and said it in a few 
words. Iii society she was quite different; extremely agree- 
able and conversational — gave excellent dinners and unde- 
niable wine. She was one of Mr. Benson’s favorite clients, 
and he was sincerely concerned to see her in trouble, al- 
though in his pn’ofessional capacity he was not given to be- 
ing demonstrative. 

“ I am very sorry to hear it,” he said, handing her to- a 
chair — “ yerj sorry indeed.” Then, seating himself, he 
prepared to listen. 

Mrs. Vernon’s habitual self-control wavered; her voice 
trembled; there were even tears in her eyes, so terrible and 
crushing was the blow that had fallen upon her. During 
the recital, which was of an astounding nature to Mr. Ben- 
son, he was compelled now and then to ejaculate, “ Dear 
me! dear me!” as a relief to his feelings. He had known 


30 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Diilcie from a child — thought of her as a child still — a good, 
obedient, well-brought-up, pretty chhii, thoroughly under 
her mother^s control, and without a will of her own. He 
offered up a little mental thanksgiving that he had neither 
wife nor daughter to bring misfortune and anxiety upon 
him. 

Mrs. Vernon, having given a rapid outline of her dread- 
ful case, attacked the all-absorbing point of interest. 

Surely, she cried, “this marriage can not be legal. 
Dulcie, being a ward in chancery, can not be married 
without the Lord Chancellor's permission. And she is not 
of age. The man must have told all sorts of deliberate 
falsehoods to get the registrar to marry them. 

Mr. Benson looked thoughtful and gloomy. 

“ Surely,^ ^ cried Mrs. Vernon, with increased agitation, 
“ I have heard of a man being imprisoned for marrying a 
ward in chancery. 

“ I am afraid, remarked Mr. Benson, despondingly, 
“ that once fhe ceremony has been performed it can not be 
annulled. You see, the responsibility of the court of 
chancery regards the property, not the person, of its wards. 
I believe all the court can do under the circumstances is to 
summon the husband to appear before it, and to insist upon 
' the property being settled in a manner which it approves. 

“ But if,"*^ cried poor Mrs. Vernon, nearly distracted — 
“ if the man has told all sorts of lies to the registrar 

“ On that point I am not absolutely certain, but I will 
make inquiries at once. You say, however, that the young 
man has sustained serious, perhaps mortal injuries. In 
that case — 

Mr. Benson paused. 

Mrs. Vernon was afraid to speak her thoughts aloud. 

“ It is important that inquiry should be made as to his 
state, suggested Mr. Benson. 

“ Yes,” she assented, “ but how? I can not send. I 
am only too anxious, if possible, to avoid being in any way 
brought into this dreadful business. He may^/^ f dropping 
her voice) “ die without recovering consciousness.^^ 

“ But he has friends, relatives, I suppose? Do you not 
think he will have taken some one into his confidence? 
Who were the witnesses?’^ 

“ My maid and the registrar’s clerk, I believe.^’ 

“ Your maid! Dear me! dear me! that respectable per- 


OKCE AGAIiq-. 


31 


son I have seen with you! I fear there are no longer any 
trustworthy servants left. 

“ No, indeed/^ replied Mrs. Vernon, with pardonable 
bitterness. 

‘‘ I think,^^ pursued Mr. Benson, after a lengthy pause, 
“ the best way will be for me to call at the hospital myself 
and inquire after the young man. I shall simply allow 
them to imagine that I was a by-stander at the time of the 
accident, and call to make inquiries out of sympathy. ” 

‘‘ Thank you, thank you,^^ cried Mrs. Vernon, eagerly. 
“ And you will let me know?^^ 

“ I will come round to your house afterward, as though 
for a friendly call.^^ 

Mrs. Vernon drove away with the load at her heart as 
heavy as when she arrived. 


CHAPTEE IV. 

Some two hours later, Mr. Benson was- ushered into Mrs. 
Vernon’s boudoir. He had called at the hospital, had seen 
the house-surgeon, and learned that Mr. Trevor was still 
insensible, and that no opinion could be given at present 
whether he would recover or not. A note-book containing 
several bank-notes and cards with his name and the ad- 
dress of a military club had been found upon him. The 
hall- porter of the club had been communicated with, and 
three or four gentlemen had been down to ask after Mr. 
Trevor. The cabman stated that he took up the gentle- 
man and a lady near the tojD of Berkeley Square, and was 
driving to Duke Street, when the collision occurred. The 
lady, Mr. Benson was informed, had not been heard of; it 
was believed that she had been assisted into a shop. If she 
w^as a friend or relative, it was supposed she would have 
sent to make inquiries; but Mr. Benson’s interlocutor in- 
timated, with a significant smile, that it was improbable 
she would be heard of any more. 

! - -So much the better!” groaned Mrs. Vernon. ‘‘Let 
hem think arajrthing — anything rather than the dreadful 
ruth! I have determined,” she went on, “ to leave Eng- 
and for the present. If this frightful affair should come 
>ut, I shall never hold up my head again. ” 

I “ But, my dear lady,” replied Mr. Benson, shaking his 


32 


ONCE AGAIN. 


head, ‘‘it is impossible to conjecture what may happen, 
and I think you should certainly be on the spot. If — if — 
hesitating, “ Mr. Trevor should recover, and the marriage 
is a legal one, there is no question that — 

“ If,^^ repeated Mrs. Vernon, with energy, “ such a 
misfortune should happen, I will at all events have things 
done decently and in order. I shall insist on a formal en- 
gagement, and on the marriage taking place in church. 
And then, with a burst of anger she found it impossible 
to restrain, “ they may go where they please, and I shall 
wash my hands of them forever. 

Mr. Benson did not expostulate; he thought his client^s 
irritation was very natural indeed under the circumstances. 

“ Well, well, we must hope for the best!^'’ he remarked, 
soothingly; but whether the best meant NoeFs death, he 
scarcely knew himself. 

“ To-morrow morning I will go to the registry office, 
and see whether the proper formalities were gone through, 
and if due notice was given; if not, we may be- able to 
question the legality of the marriage. Probably the young 
man was in too great a hurry to ask for the certificate, as 
it was certainly not found upon him. I will make every 
possible inquiry, and should strongly advise you to elicit as 
much information as possible from your daughter and the 
maid. I will also call again at St. George’s and make in- 
quiry for the patient; or perhaps my better plan will be to 
ask at his club. You may rely upon my sending you the 
earliest information on both points. ” 

Then Mr. Benson took his leave. 

Mrs. Vernon had all the evening before her to refiect in. 

Dulcie remained in her room, with Morton in attendance. 
Mrs. Vernon felt the greatest repugnance to seeing her 
daughter, against whom she was deeply angered. She di- 
vined that all the obstinacy of Dulcie’s nature was aroused. 
She was conscious that the betrayal of her own feelings 
would be unwise, and yet it was impossible to treat the girl 
with any show of affection or symj^thy. Of the latter, 
indeed, she did not feel a particle, and simply reg-arded 
the accident as a judgment on an und u tifu.^ arid headstrong 
child. The one vital point was whether the marriage was 
legal or not, and for that knowledge she would have to 
wait, at all events, until the morrow. Angry as she was 
with Morton, much as she would have liked to punish her. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


33 


she was aware that she was more likely to learn what she 
wanted from her than from Dulcie, and thought it better 
to make her the medium of communication between her- 
self and her daughter. And, besides, knowing how people 
of her class are prone to exaggerate, and thinfing exagger- 
ation might be useful in this case, she saw the expediency 
of letting a good deal of what she had to say to Dulcie filter 
through the maid. 

When Morton came to assist her in dressing, she re- 
marked, in a quiet but very impressive voice — 

I am not at present going to say anything about the 
manner in which you have betrayed my confidence. You 
have helped Miss Dulcie into a very serious predicament, 
the consequences of which it is impossible to foresee. 

Morton^s tears began to fall. 

You may,’ ^ continued Mrs. Vernon, severely, “have 
been the means of ruining her whole life. ” (The tears be- 
gan to rain.) “She is a young girl quite ignorant of the 
world. Without you she could never have carried out tliis 
wild and foolish project. ” 

Here Morton required the support of tlie wardrobe, 
whilst she rubbed her eyes and nose to a crimson hue. 

“The accident,” pursued Mrs. Vernon, solemnly, 

seems nothing less than a judgment; and it is more than 
likely this — ^young man will pay the penalty of liis life for 
his wickedness.” 

Sobs. 

“ He is’ still unconscious; he may not live the night 
through. In any case, the ceremony performed to-day is 
illegal, as he made false representations. As Miss Dulcie 
is a ward in chancery, the consent of the court is required 
before she can marry. Any one marrying a ward in chan- 
cery without the Lord Chancellor’s consent is liable to im- 
prisonment. You can tell Miss Dulcie all this, and what 
a very narrow escape she has had. I think it better not to 
see her again myself to-night. If,” as Morton still sobbed 
hysterically, “ you wish to atone for the dreadful injury 
you have already done both to her and to me, you will do 
all you can to prevent any suspicion of what has occurred 
^tting abroad. Above all, beware of going to the hospital 
Q-' helping to communicate with Mr. Trevor should ho re- 
aver, which is more than doubtful, or you may be had up 
2 


34 


OKCE AGAIIT. 


before the Lord Chancellor for aiding a conspiracy, and 
may find yourself in a very serious position/^ 

This last suggestion nearly terrified Morton into a fit, as 
it was intended to do. • = 

She went back to Dulcie, and poured such a terrible 
story into her ears that the girl, who was a thorough cow- 
ard, felt her grief for Noel almost swallowed up by her fears 
for herself, and no longer tried to prevail on Morton to go 
to the hospital as she had previously done. Indeed, Mor- 
ton affirmed her belief that poor Mr. Trevor was a corpse 
already, and wrung her hands, bewailing her own weakness 
and wickedness in ever having allowed herself to be per- 
suaded to assist in such a course of deceit and treachery. 

“ Why didn’t you tell me. Miss Dulcie,” she said (in the 
afternoon she had called her ma’am,” but, now that she 
no longer regarded the marriage as valid, she returned to 
her usual mode of address) — “ why didn’t you tell me that 
you were a ward in chancery, and that we might all be 
locked Up in prison for this? I call it cruel of you — and 
me wdio has my bread to earn, and could never get a place 
again once I’d been in jail!” 

“ I never knew it mattered,” stammered Dulcie. 

‘‘But you knew you was not twenty-one, miss,” said 
Morton, “ and you should not have allowed Mr. Trevor to 
go telling a pack of lies about you. And, though I don’t 
like to think it of him, and he perhaps lying dead this min- 
ute, he may have known all the time it ^wasn’t lawful, and 
may have enticed you into it so that he might back out 
again if he wanted to. I am sure you ought to go on your 
knees and thank the Almighty for that accident, or good- 
ness knows what you might have come to! I’m sure the 
only wonder iB your ma hasn’t put me and my boxes out- 
side the door before this!” 

Dulcie was dumb with misery. To have lost the sym- 
pathy and co-operation of Morton was almost the severest 
blow of all. 

Mrs. Vernon would indeed have had reason to congratu- 
late herself on her diplomacy could she have witnessed the 
scene that was taking place overhead. She was terribly 
perplexed and distressed; the most poignant fear of all wa?^ 
lest this disgraceful story should get abroad, and, in spi^^ 
of Mr. Benson’s opinion, she resolved to quit the count^ 
for the time being, even if she were compelled to return td 


ONCE AGAIN. 


35 


it. On tlie one hand, she pictured the horrors of an in- 
quest; on the other, Noel recovered, coming to claim his 
wife. Yes, the only thing for it was flight; she would go 
down to Dover the following afternoon, and proceed next 
day to Paris, leaving her address with Mr. Benson only. 
But lest he should dissuade her from her intention, she 
determined not to communicate it to him until after it had 
become an accomplished fact. 

When Morton appeared, to assist her in undressing, she 
put a few more questions to her. Had any one in the house 
the smallest suspicion of Miss Dulcie^s meeting with Mr. 
Trevor? No, Morton declared eagerly that not a soul 
knew of his existence as far as she was aware. What ex- 
planation had been given of Miss Dulcie^s condition on her 
return home in the morning? Morton replied that she had 
told them down-stairs that, having some important work to 
finish, she had left Miss Dulcie to do her shopping alone; 
that her young lady had got into a hansom to come home, 
that the horse had fallen down and she been thrown out, 
and that Mrs. Vernon was very angry at her having been 
about the streets alone. This was plausible enough, and 
Mrs. Vernon '’s mind was relieved. 

“ I intend, if possible, she informed Morton, to leave 
London to-morrow afternoon. You can be putting things 
together; but on no account tell Miss Dulcie to-night.'’^ 

Morton obeyed. She was really relieved at the idea of 
going away, so frightened was she lest she should be sum- 
moned before the Lord Chancellor, whom she vaguely 
thought of as a terrible being. Had Dulcie shown a bold 
front, and been strong and determined, she might have re- 
tained her influence over Morton; but in an emergency 
weakness despises weakness and is apt to turn to the strong, 
and Morton -went over to the side of her mistress in the 
hope of securing her own safety. 

Dulcie had not the smallest anchor of hope to cling to. 
Noel was lost to her; worse thought still, Noel had be- 
trayed her. If he were killed, she bad made up her mind 
in the afternoon to wear widow^s weeds for him; but now, 
if she was not his lawful wife, where should she hide her 
head from this disgrace should the story of it get about? 
She was in a truly pitiable state of mind — a wofully pliant 
condition, ready to be molded as her mother chose if she 
woidd only screen and defend her. 


36 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Diilcie, liaving little common sense, being utterly igno- 
rant of the Avorld and exceedingly weak of character, was, 
when left to herself in a difficulty, like chaff before the 
wind. She was yery pretty, and she was amiable by nature, 
quite fitted to take her part in the world with a strong pro- 
tector at her back, but as helpless alone as a ship without a 
rudder. Noehs ardor and strength of will made her fancy 
herself strong for the time; now she was stranded on rocks, 
flung hither and thither at the mercy of the waves. 

The next morning Mrs. Vernon had a letter from her 
lawyer. Mr. Trevor remained insensible. The marriage 
was legal and binding. She at once decided upon flight, 
and wrote to Mr. Benson telling him her plans. 

^‘1 shall keep you informed where I am, she wrote, 

but I do not intend to let my servants have my address; 
therefore I shall ask you occasionally to forward my letters 
when I write for them. It is, of course, unpleasant to 
awaken suspicions and to behave mysteriously, but for the 
present I have only one object, which is to prevent Mr. 
Trevor following us.^^ 

Mrs. Yernon^s butler had been some few years in her 
service. She summoned him, and informed him of her in- 
tended departure. Her tone and manner were so natural 
that the man, although he had a shrewd suspicion that there 
was something at the bottom of this sudden journey more 
than met the eye, had nothing to confirm it. 

“ I have made up my mind in a great hurry, Haynes, 
said his lady, affably. ‘‘ I am tired of this fog and smoke, 
and want to get to a pleasanter climate. I can not give 
you any address at present, as I shall licrhaps only stay a 
night in Paris, but will let you know as soon as possible 
where to forward my letters. We shall most likely return 
very soon; be prepared to hear that we are on ourwa}’ back 
at any moment. 

Mrs. Vernon saw Dulcie for the first time that day when 
she got into the brougham which was to take them to the 
railway-station. !She was very pale, and looked utterly 
wretched, but her mother, instead of compassionating her, 
felt nothing but deep and bitter anger against her. Not a 
word was exchanged between them. Dulcie was frightened 
as well as sullen, and Mrs. Vernon had come to the con- 
clusion that the best and safest plan would be to avoid all 
mention of this dreadful matter for the present. She did 


ONCE AGAIN. 


37 


really and honestly hope that Noel would die, and so free 
her from the most terrible dilemma that ever happened to 
an unfortunate woman. It was not a very cheerful pros- 
pect to think of having for her only society a companion 
who felt for her and for whom she felt a smothered hostil- 
ity; and she resolved to hasten at once to the south of 
France, where she would meet old friends, or make new 
acquaintances, and not be thrown entirely upon her diso- 
bedient daughter for companionship. 

Mrs. Vernon disliked the Continent, and was fond of 
London — particularly fond of her home. She liked her 
own comfort, her regular mode of life, the pleasant society 
amidst which she moved. Well off, the mother of a pretty 
marriageable daughter who had a fortune of her own, her 
position had been a very agreeable one; but now shame, 
disgrace, bitter disappointment, had overtaken her, and she 
felt oppressed and worried to such a degree that she could 
scarcely contemplate the future with calmness. 

It happens occasionally, by a merciful dispensation, that 
when things are looking their blackest some consoling inci- 
dent brings a break in our despair; and now a simple 
though very fortunate occurrence came, as a perfect god- 
send to Mrs. Vernon. She and Dulcie had taken their 
places in the Lover train. Presently the door of the car- 
riage opened, and two more ladies were admitted — one 
quite young, but very sickly and delicate-looking. She 
was helped in by an older lady and a maid, who busied 
themselves with wraps and cushions in making the invalid 
comfortable. 

Mrs. Vernon at once recognized in the mother, as slie 
evidently was, a once intimate friend and school-fellow, of 
whom, however, she had seen nothing for years. For the 
moment this lady was far too much occupied with the in- 
valid to remark the other occupants of the carriage, and it 
was only just as the train was about to start that her eyes 
met those of Mrs. Vernon, and a sudden light of recogni- 
tion and inquiry dawned in them. Then very cordial greet- 
ings were interchanged. The daughters were presented^ 
and Mrs. Vernon, to her unspeakable relief, w^as no longer 
tete-a-tete with Dulcie. 

“ We are on our way to Nice,^^ said Mrs. Chester. “ To- 
night we sleep at the Lord Warden, to-morrow go on to 


38 


OKCE AGAIN-. 


Paris, and then by stages to the end of our journey, as my 
little girl — affection atel}^ — “ can not bear much fatigue. 

Mrs. Vernon at once decided, that she would make her 
movements agree with theirs. Not only had she a liking 
for her old friend, but she felt it would be everything, both 
for herself and Pulcie, not to be thrown much upon each 
other^s society in their present mood. 

“My son will join us to-night,” added Mrs. Chester. 
“ Dear fellow! it is so good of him to leave his hunting, 
and he dislikes going abroad so much; but he knew we 
should be nervous traveling without a gentleman, and 
' agreed quite willingly to take us and fetch ns home again. 
We can not get on without him: can we, Lilah?’^ 

“ No, indeed;” and the small, wan face of the invalid 
lighted up. 

“ You have only one son, I think?” asked Mrs. Vernon. 

“One son -and one daughter. And this, I believe ” — 
with a kind look at Dulcie — “ is your only treasure?” 

“My only one,” replied Mrs. Vernon, trying hard to 
put a little motherly warmth into her words and her glance 
at Dulcie. Dulcie, too, essayed a feebly responsive smile. 

All the way to Dover the two elder ladies chatted to- 
gether, becoming deeply interested in their reminiscences 
of by-gone days. The meeting gave genuine pleasure to 
both. Before they reached their destination they had 
agreed that the journey to the south should be taken in- 
each other^s company. 

Dulcie was amiable, and had pretty manners. She was 
kind to the little invalid, and helped to make her more 
comfortable; and Lilah, who was very much attracted by 
good looks, took a great fancy to her. 

The party dined together in Mrs. Chester's sitting-room, 
and about nin^ oYlock Sir John arrived. He had succeeded 
his grandfather in the baronetcy, his father having died 
only one month earlier. 

He was not a little surprised to find four ladies instead of 
two; but it was evidently an agreeable surprise. And 
when his mother hastened to tell him that they were all go- 
ing to travel south together, he expressed frank satisfac^ 
tion. Dulcie was very pretty. He liked pretty girls. She 
had a pleasing manner, and he was wont to pronounce 
manner “ half the battle. ” 

For his own part, he was a tall, broad-shouldered young 


OKCE AGAIN. 


39 


fellow, whom it would have been impossible to mistake for 
anything but an Englishman — with blue eyes, remarkably 
good teeth, and the frankest, pleasantest smile imaginable. 

When the party retired, after cordial good-night greet- 
ings, three at least out of the five congratulated them- 
selves on the fortuitous meeting. Mrs. Chester thought it 
would be so nice for her dear boy to have a protty girl to 
beguile him, and reflected how pleasant Mrs. Vernon^s 
companionship would be for herself; Mrs. Vernon had a 
load taken from her breast on being relieved from a pain- 
ful and prolonged tete-a-tete with her daughter; Sir John 
was delighted at the prospect of traveling with pretty 
Dulcie. Dulcie herself was too wretched to indulge in any 
pleasant anticipations, although she was thankful not to be 
left alone with her mother. Lilah, who was inclined to be 
more exacting and jealous, was half afraid that she would 
not receive her due share of attention from her adored 
brother. Morton^s satisfaction was unbounded. Instead 
of traveling alone, she would have the society of the lady’s- 
maid and footman, and this agreeable knowledge materially 
assisted her to return to her usual cheerful frame <>f mind. 


CHAPTER V. 


In spite of this piece of good fortune, Mrs. Vernon’s 
feelings were far from enviable. Her daughter was really 
married — married to a worthless adventurer, as she chose 
to consider poor Noel. AVorldly and ambitious, she had 
determined that Dulcie should make a good marriage, and 
with this in view had rejoiced at her good looks and had 
made the most of her in every way. She should marry a 
man of wealth, position, perhaps of title. Why not? She 
was exceptionally pretty; she had money of her own; she 
might marry any one. And now this fair fabric of hopes 
had fallen like a house of cards, dissolved in mist like a 
castle in Spain. And the child on whom she had placed 
all her hopes had not only disappointed her, but had dis-. 
her in the most heartless and cruel manner. 



It seemed inconceivable, when she remembered Dulcie’s 
yielding disposition. She had never shown any will of her 
own — had never, at all events, attempted to combat her 
mother’s; how, in so short a time, had a man gained suf- 


40 


ONCE AGAIN. 


ficient inflaence over her to cause her to act in a manner 
totally, opposed to her natural weakness and timidity? Then 
Mrs. Vernon thought with a pang of Sir John Chester. He 
was not, perhaps, so great a match as she had imagined for 
Hulcie; but compared with Noel Treyor he "was a splendid 
alliance. And here these young people would be thrown 
together with exceptional opportunities. It was easy to see 
that Sir John already admired Dulcie, and he was so good- 
looking and pleasant that a girl could not fail to like and 
be attracted I " Mrs. Vernon ^s mind 



Dulcie the position 


that should 


might become extremely embarrassinsr. She had told 
Morton distinctly that the marriage was null and void. 
Morton had of course repeated this to Dulcie, and Dulcie, 
unable to communicate with Noel, and without the means 
of discovering anything for herself, was tolerably certain to 
take it for granted that she was free. Well, the man 
might die, and Mrs. Vernon most sincerely hoped he 
would. 

The next day was fine; Ihe sun shone, the sea was calm. 
Sir John^s attention was at first entirely taken up by his 
little invalid sister; his strong arms carried her on board 
tlie boat, he placed her with all a womaiJs gentleness in 
the most comfortable position, and saw that she had every- 
thing she coiild possibly want. A deck-cabin had been en- 
gaged for her, but she preferred to lie out in the fresh air. 
Her mother, the maid, and the footman hovered about, 
blit it was her brother who did everything for her and to 
whom she looked to supply her every want. Her eyes 
watched him jealously when, having devoted himself to her 
comfort and said many gay and cheery words to her, he 
went and sat down by Dulcie. 

Poor Dulcie! her brain was in a whirl. She had never 
yet been abroad. As she watched the sunlit cliffs lessening 
in the distance, she told herself that she was leaving all she 
loved behind — leaving Noel dying, perhaps dead. A super- 
stitious terror crossed her that this was a judgment upon 
her for having disobeyed her mother: almost for the first 
time, the enormity of the wrong she had committed dawned 
upon her. She and Noel were to have gone to Paris to- 
gether, and now he was lying in a hospital and she was on 
her way to Paris with her mother. If only that awful 
doubt of him could be set at rest! — if she could be assured 


ONCE AGAIN. 


41 


that he had not deceived her willingly, knowingly! — if 
there were any one she could turn to for counsel, in whom 
she could confide! It was a relief to her at first that her 
mother made no reference to the subject; she had dreaded 
her anger unspeakably, her severe recriminations; but now 
she felt this horrible uncertainty to be almost worse. 

Sir John noticed how pale she was, and that her e3^es 
shone with tears, but he only thought that she was possibly 
suffering from physical qualms, knowing what delicate 
creatures women were, and that, though there was no mo- 
tion in the boat worth speaking of, it was possible she was 
feeling, or fancying she felt, unwell. So he engaged for a 
time in conversation with Mrs. Vernon, who exerted her 
very considerable powers of pleasing for his benefit, and 
only returned to Dulcie when they were nearing Calais. 
She was better by this time; the fresh air had braced her 
nerves; his face was pleasant to look upon, his cheery voice 
was inspiriting, and she was able to smile at him, and to 
respond to his remarks with something of her usual man- 
ner. For Dulcie, if weak in character and not to be classed 
among clever people, was by no means deficient in intelli- 
gence, and had, as a rule, a very fair amount of small-talk 
at her command. And during the journey to Paris she 
was not insensible of the advantage of having a young, 
well-looking man of the party, anxious to please her and 
thoughtful for her comfort. He was bright, active, alert, 
saw to everything, and did not for a moment lose his good- 
temper on one or two of those critical occasions when a 
traveling Englishman is prone to show the cloven foot. 
His first care was always for Lilah; and after her the other 
ladies came in for his attentions and good offices. 

Lilah was tired out when they arrived in Paris, and had 
to be put to bed at once: the rest of the party dined 
together in the restaurant of the hotel. After dinner, Mrs. 
Chester went up to Lilah, and Sir John suggested, if Mrs. 
and Miss Vernon were not tired, he would take them out 
to have a look at the shops. Both were glad enough to ac- 
cept his proposal: each had a horror of being left alone 
with the other. Mrs. Vernon was afraid of a point-blank 
question from Dulcie which she would be compelled to an- 
swer truthfully. Dulcie feared her m other ^s reproaches. 
Sir John^s company was a godsend to both. 

The night was clear, and not cold for the time of year. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


/ 


42 


The lights, the gay shops, the entire change of scene, and, 
last not least, the young man^s cheeriness and vivacity, all 
helped to put them more at their ease and to dispel the 
dreadful gloom which oppressed their hearts. 

When Dulcie retired for the night, and referred, in Mor- 
ton ^s presence, to the late terrible event, the maid showed 
herself the reverse of sympathetic, and said, with some 
shortness, that the best thing her young lady could possibly 
do was to forget all about that foolish alfair, and to thank 
Providence things had happened as they did, or what a posi- 
tion she might iiave been in now! For Morton, turncoat 
that she was, had already dismissed Noel from her thoughts 
and alfections, and had begun to consider Sir John as a 
much more appropriate suitor for Dulcie. So she discour- 
aged all mention of Noel, and was not in the least moved 
by Dulcie ^s tears and reproaches. 

The next day Lilali was unable to leave her room. 
Fatigue had brought on one of the severe headaches she 
was subject to, and she remained in a darkened room, 
watched over alternately by her mother and the maid, and 
was only able to bear her adored brother's presence fora 
moment, when he was admitted to kiss and press ber thin 
little hand without speaking. He was therefore at liberty 
to escort Mrs. Vernon and her daughter shopping; insisted 
on giving them luncheon at “ Voisin^s;^^ drove afterward 
with them in the Bois, and took them to the theater in the 
evening. Mrs. Vernon, who knew French thoroughly, did 
all the talking that was required in that language, and ex- 
plained the play to Sir John, who was as ignorant of 
French, and as shy of speaking it, as most young Britons. 
He came to the conclusion that she was one of the most de- 
lightful women he had ever met in his life, and divided his 
attentions almost equally between her and Dulcie, whom he 
thought a dear, nice, modest little girl!^^ 

Golden opinions were flying about all round. When 
Mrs. Vernon reflected on the situation and on possibilities, 
she was almost driven to despair. She saw in Sir John a 
probable suitor for Dulcie. In her dreams, perhaps, she 
had thought of a son-in-law of higher rank and larger fort- 
line; but this charming young fellow, this devoted son and 
brother, would have had small difficulty in obtaining her 
consent. He would most likely, with all the opportunities 
that would be given him, fall in love with Dulcie and wish 


ONCE AGAIN. 


43 


to marry her, and Dulcie, perish the thought! — Dulcie was 
a married woman already, and that fatal symbol of her folly 
lay in the drawer of Mrs. Vernon^s dressing-case. 

A dreadful sense of uneasiness stole over her as she re- 
membered how she had given Morton to understand that 
the marriage was illegal. Dulcie no doubt considered her- 
self free; and suppose she, forgetting her grief and Noel 
Trevor in time, should conie to look with favorable eyes 
on Sir John! Oh, if that wretch would only die! The 
afternoon of her arrival in Paris, Mrs. Vernon had tele- 
graphed to Mr. Benson, and the second morning following 
she received a letter from him. 

“ Mr. Trevor,-’^ he wrote, “ still lies in the same critical 
condition. I think you were a little precipitate in leaving 
England, and I must remind you that 3^011 ought to have 
apprised the Court of Chancery of the marriage of Miss 
Vernon; also that before taking her out of the country it 
was necessary to obtain the sanction of the court to your 
doing so.^^ 

Mrs. Vernon heeded this not at all. She was out of Eng- 
land, thank God! and out of England she would remain. 
Dulcie having worked upon Morton’s feelings with extreme 
difficulty, the maid ventured to ask her mistress whether 
Mr. Trevor still lived. 

Mrs. Vernon paused a moment before replying, then 
said, in her cold, awe-inspiring voice — 

Mr. Trevor remains in the same condition. If he 
should die, I will tell you; but do not mention the subject 
to me again.” Then, as an after- thought, “ If he does not 
die, he may be an idiot for the rest of his life.” 

Morton made the very most of this suggestion, and drew 
a lively picture to Dulcie of the horror of having an im- 
becile husband, and of her good fortune in not really being 
his wife. The idea took very forcible possession of Dulcie, 
and made her thoughts of Noel full of terror and distress, 
instead of the love and sympathy which had characterized 
them hitherto. She welcomed anything that distracted her 
from these dreadful reflections, and laughed and talked to 
Sir John with a gayety which he little suspected was forced. 
It did not, however, deceive her mother. 

Mrs. Chester was delighted that her dear son should be 
so well amused. Like all good women, she was a match- 


44 


ONCE AGAIN. 


maker, and, although she had everything to lose and noth- 
ing to gain by his marriage, she was quite prepared, when 
his choice fell on some nice, good girl, to say, “ Bless you, 
my children!^’ and vacate the home to which she was so 
fondly attached. And Dulcie, so pretty, gentle, well- 
brought-up, seemed a daughter-in-law eminently to be de- 
sired. In their school-days she had always looked up to' 
Margaret Lockv\^ood as a superior being, to be admired and- 
resj)ected: a girl brought up under such a mother could 
not fail to be full of virtue and merit. 

Sir John himself, though not shy, but, on the contrary, 
much inclined for women^’s society, had never, so far as she 
knew, been seriously in love or proposed for the hand of 
any woman. There was one little episode in his life of which 
she and most other people were ignorant. 

At one-and-twenty he had for the first and only time in 
his life fallen desperately in love. It was during the first 
season he spent in London, when his mother was living 
quietly at home in the country and knew no more of his 
doings than he was pleased to tell her. Sir John was a 
thoroughly honorable, good-hearted young fellow, and, as 
his fortune would have it, the siren who fascinated him was 
a married woman. She was handsome, clever, and several 
years older than himself. For some little time she played 
with him and his heart as she would, and the condition of 
his mind halted between ecstasy and misery. With his 
strong sense of honor, it was intolerable to him to sit at the 
table and take the hand of a man whom in his heart he was 
betraying, and he had a terrible time with his conscience. 
And, as it does not often happen when the blood is in its 
heyday and the siren smiles, conscience got the better of 
passion. Jack (by which name he was known to all his 
intimates), having fought a valiant fight and being sorely 
wounded in the encounter, took the only refuge of a brave 
man in such warfare, and fled. He went to America for 
three months, spent the winter down at home hunting 
vigorously, and took good care to avoid the society which 
had been so dangerously dear to him. And from that time 
until now, though he had liked and admired several women, 
he had never felt that the society of one was absolutely nec- 
essary to him; and, knowing how severe a trial it would be 
to his mother, and far more to his little sick sister, to leave 
the Hall, he never encouraged himself to think seriously 


Oi^CE AGAI^r. 


45 


of bringing a new mistress to take the reins of government. 
He was still free and heart-whole; but any day might 
change this happy condition and dehver him over bound 
and captive to the charms of some fair maiden. 

Two or three days passed. Lilah was pretty well again. 
Her sharp, jealous eyes saw with intense dissatisfaction the 
pleasant familiar terms on which her brother and Dulcie 
, stood, and terrible forebodings haunted her. She was 
silent and irritable; no one could please her. Poor little 
girl! she had so few pleasures; her lot seemed so hard to 
her. Never to be able to do anything like any one else! 
I'he idea of not being first with her idolized brother was 
unendurable, and the possibility of leaving that home which 
was the dearest spot of earth to her increased her melan- 
choly and irritability fourfold. 

Why did you ask those people to join us?^^ she said 
petulantly to her mother. 

Mrs. Chester returned sootjiingly that she thought it 
would be so nice for all of them to have pleasant compan- 
ions. But Lilah answered with irritation that it was not at 
all nice — that they tookMohnnie away from her, and that 
most likely they would do all they could to catch liim, and 
that she and her mother would be turned out of their dear, 
darling home, and then perhaps she (her mother) would be 
pleased with what she had done! And poor Lilah began to 
cry bitterly, and Mrs. Chester was at her wits’ end to pacify 
her. Lilah was even irritable to her brother; but he was 
so kind and forbearing that it was impossible to remain 
angry with him : she therefore contented herself by increas- 
ing her exactions fourfold and insisting on liis company at 
all times and seasons. 

Not selfish, as many men are in their youth and 
strength, he was so pitying and tender toward her frailness 
and weakness that many a time he yielded to her exactions 
with the kindest grace in the world when he would fain 
have been doing something else. And he was rewarded by 
the clasp of that poor little thin hand, the look of adora- 
tion and gratitude in the eloquent eyes of the suffering girl 
when he sat beside her couch, or took her driv^ing, or un- 
hesitatingly obeyed some rather imperious and perhaps in- 
convenient behest. 

‘‘Poor little girl!” he said tenderly to himself, “she 
might have been the strong and I the weak and sickly one!” 


46 


ONCE AGAIN. 


He never forgot his father’s words, spoken shortly before 
he died : 

“Always be good to the women. Jack! Be kind to 
them: don’t be selfish; don’t do things as if they were a 
bore and a trouble. Young fellows are apt to think too 
much about themselves and their own pleasures. Don’t, 
you be like that, my boy. Be good to your mother, who is 
the most unselfish woman alive, and be kind to poor little • 
Lilah, who has a sorrowful time in store for her, even at 
the best! If in another world we can look down on this, 
think, my boy, that I shall be watching you, and blessing 
you if you are kind to them.” 

And Jack, who loved his father dearly, never forgot 
those words, though he had such a good heart that even 
without them it is very likely he would not have failed in 
duty or kindness toward these weak women who depended 
upon him. 

After three days in Paris, Lilah was well enough to con- 
tinue the journey. Their next halting-place was Lyons, 
where they stayed one night only.^ Lilah deteste^ travel- 
ing, and was anxious to get to her journey’s end. But she 
was so fatigued when they reached Marseilles that two 
nights and a day had to be spent there in order to recruit 
her strength. 

Dulcie was charmed with the bright town of Marseilles, 
and here, as Mrs. Vernon was not very well, she and Jack 
were thrown a good' deal in each other’s company. He 
walked and drove with her to see all the objects of interest, 
and her even spirits and natural brightness partially re- 
turned to her, and she began to forgetdier misery and to 
look once more upon the bright side of life. The events of 
a few days before she came to regard as a nightmare. She 
was beginning to feel indignant against Noel, who she now 
taught herself to believe had laid a trap for her. Morton 
was careful to foster any thoughts unfavorable to the poor 
fellow in her 3^oung lady’s mind; arid Dulcie shuddered with 
horror as Morton dwelt on his possible idiocy, and related 
' her own experience of an imbecile young man — a member 
of a family in which she had once lived. All Dulcie now. 
hoped was that she would never see- or hear of Noel again. 

Mrs. Vernon’s frame of mind was anything but pleasant. 
Her tactics had been almost too successful, and she began 
to think, not without horror, of the terrible position in 


ONCE AGAIN. 


47 


which her daughter might find herself if she should come 
to be attached to Sir John Chester. Marr}" him she cer- 
tainly could not whilst her husband lived, and even should 
he die it would, she feared, be necessary that the dreadful 
story should be confessed. 

And it was not one that a lover, especially an honorable, 
straightforward young fellow, would like very much to hear! 
And, besides, Mrs. Vernon had a terrible intuition that 
Noel would not die. What should she do and say if some 
day Dulcie came blushing and smiling to tell her that Sir 
John had proposed, and that she had accepted him? 

Mrs. Vernon was greatly tempted to wish that Dulcie had 
never been born, or that she had succumbed to the attack 
of scarlet fever which had nearly cost her her life when a 
child. 

Her heart sunk as she watched Sir John'^s manner to 
Dulcie, and the favor with which Dulcie seemed to regard 
him in return; nor was she reassured by the affectionate in- 
terest Mrs. Chester displayed in her daughter. She read 
plainly what was in that guileless lady^s mind, and it caused 
her to groan in spirit. Meantime, she heard from Mr. 
Benson that young Trevor was alive, and would probably 
live, but that he showed no signs of mental consciousness. 

“ If things go much further,^ ’said the distracted mother 
to herself, “I must let Dulcie know the horrid truth.” 
Then suddenly a thought struck her. Eeine is at 
Cannes. I will get her to come to us. Perhaps Sir John 
will fall in love with her.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

The morning after their arrival at Nice was perfect. 
The waves dancing in the sunshine were blue as the vault 
of heaven which they reflected ; the sun was brilliant as a 
June sun in England; everywhere children offered roses 
and orange-blossoms, bright anemones, and great violets 
for sale. Sir John escorted the ladies into the town in 
quest of gay-lined cotton umbrellas to protect their com- 
plexions from the too ardent gaze of Phoebus. Once there, 
they lingered to look at the corals, the laces, the . tempting 
crystallized fruits, and other wares, and afterward sat and 
sunned themselves on the Promenade. 


48 


Ol^CE AGAIN-. 


‘‘ To think of this being December said Dulcie. “ I 
wonder every one does not come away from the cold and 
the horrid fogs in England. ^ 

“ It is delicious/^ responded Sir John; but* in his heart 
he thought of dull gray mornings in his own land which 
were more exhilarating and spirit-stirring to him than all 
this glamour of sunshine. Still, he was well content for 
the present to be where he was. 

‘MVe shall have to go over to Monte Carlo and try our 
luck/^ he proceeded, turning to Mrs. Vernon. When 
shall it be? to-morrow ?^^ 

‘‘ To - morrow,^^ responded Mrs. Vernon, ‘‘my niece 
Mrs. Chandos is coming over from Cannes to spend a 
couple of days with us: so I must be here to receive her. 
But that is no reason why you should not go; and perhaps 
you will take us another day.^^ 

“ Oh, we must all make our dehut together he laughed. 
“ I am not a gambler. I shall lose my five pounds and 
then come away; but it would bore me to go alone. I only 
care for the outing, and an outing without pleasant com- 
pany isiiT worth having. 

“ I shall like to introduce you to my niece, said Mrs. 
Vernon. “ She is a very interesting person — clever and 
original. 

“ I shall be charmed, he replied; but mentally he 
opined that a clever and original woman would be a bore 
and a wet blanket, and, stealing a glance at Dulcie, he 
thought how infinitely preferable was a pretty little girl like 
this with not brains enough to make a man feel like a fool 
beside her. ’ 

“ She is a poetess, too,^^ Mrs. Vernon continued, adding 
to his disrelish of her picture by every word. “ Her poems 
have been a good deal talked about — very much praised and 
very much abused, which is a certain proof that they are 
above mediocrity. 

“ I shall be horribly afraid of her,^^ returned Sir John. 
“ Does she wear spectacles and affect the divided skirt 

“ Oh,^^ chimed in Dulcie, “ Reine is very pretty and 
dresses beautifully. ” 

“ I do not think the words ‘ very pretty ^describe her ac- 
curately,^' said Mrs. Vernon. “ She has a face full of 
charm and intelligence, and, if she likes you and lays her- 


ONCE AGAIN. 


49 


self out to be pleasant to you, you will probably think her 
more than pretty. 

But Sir John did not feel drawn to the lady in question, 
and had a presentiment, as trustworthy as most presenti- 
ments are, that he should not like her. He was even 
minded to go off to Monaco alone on purpose to avoid her. 

In the afternoon they went to the Casino and listened to 
the band, dined at the fadle d^Mte, ,and spent the evening 
with Lilah in the sitting-room, each vying with the other 
in attentions to the little invalid. 

It was at luncheon the following day that Sir John saw 
Reine Chandos for the first time. One glance showed him 
that the impression he had formed of her in his mind was 
totally incorrect; in ten minutes he had forgotten that she 
was clever and a blue-stocking, and thought her one of the 
most fascinating creatures he had ever seen. She was not 
beautiful — no! that was not the word that expressed her: 
he felt as if he wanted an even better one. Her features 
were small and delicate, she had eyes like brown velvet, 
her hair was dark with a dash of chestnut in it, her hands 
were exquisitely delicate. She smiled at the young man, 
whose good looks and frank, pleasant manner pleased her, 
and she talked to him in a gay strain that had nothing to 
remind him of poetess or strong-minded woman. For 
Reine was the most impressionable of her sex, and liked or 
disliked almost at a glance. 

Sir John pleased her. With swift intuition she saw in 
him a suitable husband for Dulcie, and was prepared to ex- 
tend a cordial welcome to him as a member of the family. 
As for him, he found the greatest difficulty in taking his 
eyes from her face, and Mrs. Vernon was quick to recog- 
nize that the mental wish she had formed was quite 
likely to be fulfilled. Any maternal jealousy that, under 
other circumstances, might have been awakened in her 
breast was laid now by the thought of the painful compli- 
cations that would occur should Sir John have any serious 
ideas about Dulcie. 

It had been arranged that Mrs. Chester, Lilah,. and her 
brother should go for a drive that afternoon to Villefranche, 
and Dulcie had been invited to accompany them. Mrs. 
Vernon and Reine were to follow in one of the delightful 
little pony-carriages which abound at Nice. Their young 
charioteer drove from the small seat at the back, and, as 


50 


OKCE AGAIN". 


he did not understand a word of English, the two ladies 
were able to converse with absolute freedom. 

For the last few days Mrs. Vernon had deliberated 
whether Eeine should be informed of the terrible event: she 
was perfectly trustworthy, and had plenty of common 
sense, but still the mother shrunk from putting any one in 
possession of this miserable secret, though it weighed so in- 
tolerably upon her that she felt that to share it would be 
the greatest relief. 

They were driving along at a smart pace, and, at a 
curve in the road, came in sight of the rest of the party, 
whose carriage preceded theirs. 

‘‘I think. Aunt Margaret,^^ said Eeine, gayly, ‘^that 
this looks very promising. Sir John seems an extremely 
nice young fellow, and will make you an excellent son-in- 
law.'’^ 

As Mrs. Vernon made no reply, Eeine turned to look at 
her, and was surprised at the gloom and despondency ex- 
pressed on her features. 

“ Why, auntie, do you not approve of him?^^ she asked, 
in a tone of surprise. 

I approve of him entirely,’^ rejoined Mrs. Vernon, 
‘‘but— but— 

“ Is he poor?’^ asked Eeine, jumping at once to the 
only possible obstacle she could imagine. 

Again Mi's. Vernon was silent for a moment, and looked 
away at the blue waves sparkling so merrily in the sun- 
shine. Should she or should she not tell Eeine, was the 
question which for the moment absorbed her. 

Eeine was silent and waited. She conjectured something 
of the doubt that was passing in Mrs. Vernon^s mind, and 
forbore to influence her decision by pressing a question. 
She affected to be engrossed by the scene around her. 

Mrs. Vernon knew that silence is golden — that it is best 
not to confide a secret that tells against us, even to a sin- 
cere friend— so many unforeseen things may come in to 
change friendship to coldness, distrust, rivalry; yet for once 
this strong-minded self-contained woman felt a woful need 
of sympathy, of help. And she really trusted Eeine: she 
had been a true friend to Eeine m her time of trial, and 
Eeine had a grateful nature. 

At last Mrs. Vernon spoke. 

My dear,^^ she said, I am in dreadful trouble. 1 be- 


OITCE AGAIN. 


51 


lieve that I should be wiser to keep it to myself, and yet 
the burden of it is almost too much for me to bear alone. 
You are the only living being with whom I would trust 
this horrid secret, and before I do so I must have your 
sacred promise that you will never breathe a word of it to 
any one — that you will behave as though you were in entire 
ignorance of it.^"’ 

Reine laid a sympathetic hand on her companion's. 

‘‘ Dear auntie,^’ she said, “ you may safely trust me. I 
am so grieved to think you are in trouble.'’^ 

“ Promise!’^ repeated Mrs. Vernon, with a show of nerv- 
ous excitement quite unusual to her. 

promise you faithfully and truly,-’’ answered Reine, 
in a low, clear voice, looking into her aunt’s eyes with a 
gaze which spoke absolute truth and sincerity. 

I can scarcely bring my mind to speak the words,” ut- 
tered Mrs. Vernon, moving uneasily: ‘‘ you will think I 
have taken leave of my senses. Can you believe,” with 
increasing irritation, “ that that wretched girl has made a 
clandestine marriage with an adventurer?” 

Reine forgot the sea, the sunshine, the flowering trees 
and shrubs, which had up to this moment delighted her 
senses, and a look of horror that was absolutely tragic crept 
into her e3^es. 

‘‘ Dulcie!” she stammered, almost inaudibly. 

‘‘Yes,” cried her aunt, “Dulcie — Dulcie, who one 
thought had no will or idea of her own. Nor had she,” 
with rising indignation: “ the man found out, of course, 
that she had money, and worked on her feelings, and, I 
suppose, pretended to adore her, and so, one morning, with- 
out my knowing even that she was keeping up an acquaint- 
ance with him, she walked out of the house and was mar- 
ried at the registry ofltice. ” 

For a moment Reine was speechless; then she said — 

“ But some one must have helped her! some one must 
have connived at it! Dulcie is the last girl in the world to 
plot and arrange such an atfair for herself. ” 

“ Of course the man managed everything, and Dulcie 
had some one to aid and abet her also — the valuable Mor- 
ton. ” 

“ Morton!” echoed Reine. “ But sheds here with you!” 

“Yes,” replied her aunt, bitterly. “You may easily 
conjecture that, if I could, I would have turned her out of 


62 


ON’CE AGAIN". 


the house on the spot without a character; but I had only 
one idea, and that was to keep the wretched affair a secret. 
If I had wreaked my anger on her, she would have blazoned 
the story abroad in revenge, and I had great hopes the 
wretched man would die. And, after all, she has been 
useful in a way. I have never breathed one word to Dulcie 
on the subject, but I have given her to understand, through 
Morton, that the marriage is illegal.'’^ 

‘‘ But,^^ interrupted Keine, “how did you get her away 
from him, and why do you say you hoped he might dier^'’ 

Mrs. Vernon told her the strange story of the accident. 
Eeine listened in wonderment that absolutely deprived her 
of speech. When the story came to an end, she had only 
one question to ask. 

“ But are you sure the marriage is legal? I thought a 
M^ard in chancery could not marry without the consent of 
the court. 

“ So I thought; but Mr. Benson explained to me that it 
is the property and not the person of the ward with which 
the court concerns itself. The only comfort is that he will 
not be able to touch her money: they will see that it is 
settled upon herself. 

Then Eeine, with a woman^s instinct, inquired about Mr. 
Trevor’s appearance; but Mrs. Vernon was far too preju- 
diced to give a fair account of him. 

“ A most ordinary young man,” she said, “ with noth- 
ing to say for himself.” 

“ But,” cried Eeine, “ the thing which baffles me is that 
Dulcie, after such a strange and terrible experience, should 
seem quite herself, quite unchanged!” 

“ Dulcie,” said her mother, bitterly, “ has no more feel- 
ing than that rock. Do you suppose a girl with a particle 
of heart could have acted to a devoted mother with such 
ruthless disregard of what she would suffer as Dulcie did in 
leaving me? One can scarcely expect, then, when things 
went wrong with her lover and caused shame and discom- 
fort to herself, that she would retain any serious regard for 
him. Besides, mercifully, she is under the impression that 
he had entrapped her into a false marriage.” 

“ Aunt Margaret,” said Eeine, very earnestly, “ I think 
she ought to know the truth. Suppose that she and Sir 
John fall in love with each other: it will be a terrible 
predicament for every one.” 


OKCE AGAIif. 


53 


I will not tell her at present/'’ answered Mrs. Yernou, 
firmly. “ What guarantee have I that she would not sud- 
denly take it into her head to run away from me and go 
back to him, or write to him to come to hei’?'’'’ 

But, if he recovers, you can not prevent him from 
claiming her!’^ 

I am determined, rephed Mrs. Vernon, that in any 
case this marriage at the registry office shall remain a 
secret. A regular engagement shall be gone through. I 
shall pretend — with a groan — to give my consent, and 
there shall be a decent and proper ceremony in church. 
Oh, Heine with tears in her eyes, a very unusual symp- 
tom of weakness with her — this has nearly broken my 
heart 

Heine was the most sympathetic woman in the world. 
She cried, too, for pity of her aunt^s grief, and used every 
effort to console and comfort her. When, a few minutes 
later, the carriage with the rest of the party turned and 
passed them on its way back, and Dulcie smiled and waved 
her hand to her cousin, Heine returned the gesture gayly; 
then she leaned back, and marveled how it was possible 
for a woman to be so heartless; but a moment later she 
murmured to herself — 

“ How fortunate, oh, how fortunate for her! Happy 
girl!’^ • 

That evening the whole party dined at the tcibh cVhote. 
Lilah persisted that she was not. tired, and was so eager to 
dine with the others that her wish was not opposed. Sir 
John sat between her and Dulcie; the three other- ladies 
had seats immediately opposite. The young man chatted 
away to Lilah and Dulcie, but his eyes wandered frequently 
to Heine. She was more than pretty, he thought. She 
looked so high-bred. Her hands, he remarked, were 
marvelously delicate and well shaped. To meet her eyes 
and see her smile gave him a sensation of delight. ISIow 
and then he said a few words to her, and she responded 
with the charming grace she always used to those who 
pleased her. 

There were people going about the world who averred 
that Mrs. Chandos was a proud, haughty, disagreeable 
woman, who gave herself great airs which, considering her 
unfortunate position, were quite unwarranted. On the 
other naiid, those to whom she accorded her friendship and 


54 


ONCE AGAIN. 


sympathy praised and belauded her* in a manner almost 
savoring of extravagance. Sir John seemed likely to rank 
among the latter class. 

“ What a tremendous mistake I made/"’ he said^ in a low 
voice full of satisfaction, to Dulcie, when 1 imagined 
your cousin to be a blue-stocking and strong-minded I She 
is one of the most charming women I ever met. 

“ Reine is very^nice,^^ replied Dulcie; but the words 
seemed extremely tame and unsatisfactory to her auditor. 

Where can I get her books?’ ^ he continued. I don’t 
care for poetry, as a rule, but I am sure I should like 
hers. ” 

I think Tauchnitz has published them,” Dulcie an- 
swered; “ but you had better not talk to Reine about 
them. Nothing annoys her so much as for any one to 
allude to her writings.” 

“Really!” exclaimed Sir John. “It seems to me I. 
should be so awfully proud if I were an author, 1 should 
want to publish the fact on the house-top. By the way, ” 
trying to assume an indifferent tone and coloring slightly, 

“ is there a Mi*. Chandos?” 

Dulcie caught the contagion of his blush fourfold, and 
looked exceedingly uneasy and embarrassed. 

“No,” she stammered; “ at least — ” 

But Sir J ohn hastened to change the subject, shocked at 
having asked an indiscreet question. 

Then he relapsed into silence, and sat wondering what 
her strange answer could mean. “No; at least — ” 

a husband or not. Could it be 

stole across him. Presently he 
5 face, and something in the ex- 
pression of her eyes gave him a horrible suspicion that she 
knew what he was thinking about— knew what he had asked 
Dulcie. He felt miserable and ashamed of himself; he • 
dropped his eyes, and thought that he should not dare to 
raise them again; then, suddenly her sweet voice struck 
gayly on his ear: she was asking if he had been to Monte 
Carlo yet. 

“ No,” he answered, eagerly; “ but we were talking of 
going to-morrow. Will you not come too?” 

She hesitated a moment before answering. 

“ If, whilst you are all in the gambling-room, you will 


Surely there must either be 
mossible that — 

A feeling of disquietude 
raised his fiance to Reine’i 


ONCE AGAIN. 55 

leave me outside to enjoy the lovely view, I will go,” she 
said. 

Oh, I am not at all keen about gambling, he ex- 
claimed, eagerly, thinking how infinitely he would j^refer 
to stroll about the grounds with her. I shall go in for 
ten minutes and try my luck and lose my money, and then 
I shall breathe the fresh air and look at the scenery, and I 
hope 3^ou won^t think my company a bore. 

‘‘ I am sure I shall not,^' replied Reine, graciously. 

‘‘Then it'’s a bargain,'’^ cried the young man, with 
sparkling eyes. 

“ You and Dulcie are going, of course?” said Reine, 
turning to her aunt, and Mrs. Yernon assented. 

“ Can I not go too?” pleaded Lilah, with tears in her 
eyes, looking eagerly at her brother. 

“ Of course you shall go, little one, if you are up to it,” 
he answered, kindly; but Mrs. Chester gave him a warn- 
ing shake of the head. 

The next morning poor Lilah was in no condition to 
think of any kind of gayety: the exertions of the day be- 
fore had brought on one of her severe headaches. Sir John 
could only just creep in on tiptoe and whisper to her that 
the ver}^ first day she was well enough he would take her 
over, and that he would bring her back a “ fairing ” this 
evening; and in return she feebly pressed his hand, unable 
even to speak. 

Mrs. Chester remained with the invalid — indeed, the ex- 
cellent lady had a secret horror of the wicked Monte Carlo 
— and Sir John escorted the other three ladies in a very 
proud and pleased frame of mind. He did not, however, 
forget his poor little sister, and on the way said to Reine, 
in a tone very much subdued from its natural blitheness — 

“Is it not strange how in this world some people suffer 
so dreadfully without any fault of their own? Look at 
poor, dear little Lilah, nearly always in pain. She is as 
good as gold, and woulduT. hurt a fiyi And here am I, a 
great hulking fellow who does not know what an ache or a 
pain means!” 

“ I do not suppose you would hurt a fly either,” replied 
Reine, smiling at him with a benevolent, almost a maternal, 
smile; and indeed she felt as though he were a nice, frank 
Eton boy and she a middle-aged woman. 

He looked at her as if he did not quite understand. He 


56 


ONCE AGAIN. 


liked her to smile at him, but he did not like her to treat 
him as though he were a mere lad. 

Eeine changed her tonei 

“It is very sad for her, poor child, she said. “ But, 
oh! how many sad things there are in the world And she 
drew such a deep, deep sigh that a wave of pity swept over 
Jack^s sensitive heart, and he felt that she herself had 
some dreadful trouble of which she was thinking. Her 
eyes wore a far-off look, and for the moment she seemed to 
have forgotten his existence. 


CHAPTER VII. 

When they arrived at Monte Carlo, Mrs. Vernon and 
Dulcie, escorted by Sir John, made their way to the 
Casino. Reine insisted on remaining in the gardens, and 
was proof against all entreaties to accompany them inside 
the building. 

“ I do not like to see poor human nature in its most de- 
based form/^ she said, smiling. “ It is bad enough at its 
best. 

The words impressed Sir John painfully. He did not 
like to hear pessimistic views from such charming lips. 
But he smiled, and answered — 

“ I hope you won’t see any very serious change for the 
worse in us when we come out. ” 

“ I hope not,” she returned, in the same vein; and, with 
a little gesture of farewell, she turned and left them as they 
entered the Casino, and went into the gardens to a spot 
whence she could see the glittering sea and the sunshine 
flooding the red rocks. 

Her thoughts traveled away from herself, and were cen- 
tered upon Dulcie and the shipwreck she had made of her 
life. Reine, in spite of a certain amount of cynicism and 
disbelief which suffering had infused into her mind, was 
rather prone to credit what she was told, and had accepted 
Mrs. Vernon’s version of the story and description of Noel 
without allowing for her aunt’s prejudice. She took it for 
granted that Dulcie ’s husband was the needy adventurer 
represented; and she thought sorrowfully of the fate which 
awaited her poor unstable cousin. 

She had always been fond bt Dulcie, who was so fair and 


ONCE AGAIN. 


57 


soft and pretty, so yielding and docile. This black sheep, 
this good-for-nothing fortune-hunter, would, no doubt, 
oppress and ill treat her, unless, for pecuniary reasons, he 
found it advisable to behave to her with some show of con- 
sideration. Why were women always compelled to suffer 
through their best affections? But then a sudden thought 
pulled Eeine up sharply. Could Dulcie^s phlegmatic nat- 
ure be made to suffer very acutely? It was only about. ten 
da3^s since she had been torn from the man whom it was to 
be presumed she loved, or thought she loved, and yet she 
was smiling, amused, and evidently capable of taking con- 
siderable interest in what was going on around her. And, 
for all she knew, he might be lying dead. 

And now, with the extraordinary irony in which Fate 
delights, she was thrown into the society of Sir John 
Chester, one of the nicest, pleasantest-mannered, kindest- 
hearted young men imaginable, Eeine said to herself. His 
face was an open book: only to see his kind, tender ways 
to his poor little sister stamped him at once the good fellow 
he was. What a smooth, fair-sailing voyage might Dulcie^s 
life have been with such a helmsman! Should we ever in 
the future know why things happen with such cruel per- 
versity? 

Her reflections were broken in upon by hurrying feet and 
laughing voices. 

“We have found you at last,^^ said Sir John, in the 
gayest accents. “ Have we been gone too long?^^ 

Eeine was more considerate than to reply that she 
thought it could be scarcely ten minutes since they parted. 

All three faces were smiling and good-humored. 

“ We have broken the bank,^^ laughed Sir John, opening 
his hand and exhibiting a rouleau of gold, and the two 
ladies followed his example and showed each a smaller one. 
“ We have won thirty pounds between us,^^ continued the 
young man, gayly. “I had the most extraordinary rmi 
of luck. I played first for myself and then for the ladies, 
and, by Jove! I believe if we had not stopped I should have 
gone on winning. 

“Then you were very wise to come away,^^ returned 
Eeine, with a smile. “ If you were to win too much, it 
would give you a taste of gambling, and you might not be 
able to tear yourself away until you had lost every sliilling 
you possess. 


58 


OI^CE AGAIK. 


Still that same kind, patronizing tone, as if he were an 
Eton boy! It would have vexed him, if he had not been 
too good-tempered and too full of admiration for her to 
allow himself to be ruffled. 

“ Let us go and have lunch, shall we?^^ he proposed; and 
the ladies assented. Sir John went on a little in advance 
and ordered an elaborate dejeuner, and bought a beautiful 
spray of flowers for each of his guests. 

“ It would only bore you to carry bouquets about, he 
explained to them, ‘‘ so I chose these. 

Eeine had many moods: to-day she was in one of her 
brightest. She talked with vivacity, was amused and 
pleased by everything, and Sir John was lost in admiration 
of all she said" and did. Mrs. Vernon observed this, and 
was by no means ill pleased. Were he to fall in love with 
Dulcie, what a terrible dilemma she would be placed in! 
Unless — but no! if Noel had been going to die, he would 
have died before this, and Mr. Benson would have informed 
her of the fact by telegram. 

Diilcie was pleased and complacent: all she wanted was 
to forget Noel, against whom she felt a dull sense of anger. 
Sir John was kind, and she liked him, but she had no de- 
sire for the present that either he or any other man should 
fall in love with her. 

Luncheon was scarcely begun when Sir John, uttering 
an exclamation, started up and hastened to greet a man 
who entered. A hearty slap on the shoulder, a vigorous 
hand-shake, followed by a slight colloquy, and then Sir 
John returned to his party beaming with smiles and bring- 
ing his friend in tow. 

“ My cousin, Alwyne Temple, he said. They all bowed, 
and Eeine remarked — 

‘‘ I think we met in Eome.^^ 

Mr. Temple came round and took her hand with more 
politeness than cordiality. 

He was a remarkably handsome young man, tall, well 
made, with clear-cut features, rather dark than fair, well 
dressed, and in every way calculated to attract observation. 
His manner, however, precluded all idea that he had any 
desire to be observed; it was perfectly quiet, self-possessed, 
and self-reliant. 

Sir John bade the waiter lay another cover, and the man 
put the chair and serviette between the two younger ladies. 


ON-CE AGAIN. 


59 


with a nice and sympathetic consideration of possible 
affinities. 

Sir John plied his cousin with questions, and it was not 
until these had been responded to, and luncheon had made 
considerable progress, that he remarked a decrease in 
Beiue^s vivacity. Alwyne’s eyes were constantly turned 
upon Dulcie, and his conversation, when not given to his 
cousin, was entirely devoted to her. 

It then occurred to Sir John that Alwyne^s presence had 
not contributed to the general cheeriness, but rather the 
reverse. Before his arrival Heine had been the life of the 
party; now she said very little, and her eyes no longer con- 
tinued to meet his as they had done. And he came to the 
conclusion that this made all the difference to his pleasure. 

Presently Mrs. Vernon proposed that she, with Reine 
and Dulcie, should leave T ' smoke and have 



a chat while they looked 


strolled in the 


Casino gardens. But the two young men showed no dis- 
position to be left, and begged that they might be allowed 
to be of the party. Sir John made his way quickly to 
Reiners side. 

“ I want you to help me choose a present for Lilah,^^ he 
said, and some flowers as well.^^ 

So they turned their steps to the florist^s at the Grand 
Dotel, and Reine selected an exquisite basket of the choicest 
blossoms to be sent to meet them at the train. Then they 
went into a jeweler^s and bought a gold bangle for the little 
invalid. The young man was dying to present a souvenir 
to his companion, but instinct told him that it would not 
be accepted, and he had a mortal awe of displeasing her. 

When they emerged from the shop the others were no- 
where to be seen. This delighted Sir John, and Reine was 
far too much a woman of the world to feel, or affect, the 
smallest embarrassment at the circumstance. 

‘‘ I suppose they are tired of waiting, and have gone on 
to the gardens,'’^ she said. ‘‘ We must look for them. 

And, side by side, they strolled in the sunshine, one of 
them unreasonably happy, the other placidly content. 

Reine led the way to a spot commanding one of the love- 
liest views, just beyond the trente-et-quarante room. The 
golden roof, and spires of the Casino and its gilded para- 
pets glowed with dazzling brilliance against the wonderful 
blue of the sky, and the Moorish arabesques ornamenting 


60 


ONCE AGAIN. 


the roulette-rooms rose, fairy-like, from the groups of 
palms, cacti, and aloes planted with a cunning eye to 
effect. And below and around were rocks and wooded 
ravines, banks of exquisite flowers, glimpses of coast, sea, 
and sky giving an indescribable effect of gorgeous coloring 
which dazzled the senses, and yet, like all nature^s handi- 
work, was harmonious in its richness and beauty. 

Both stood and gazed in silence. Sir John felt as though 
a new era had opened in his life. He was susceptible to the 
beauties of nature, but to-day these were enhanced a thou- 
sand-fold by the charm of the woman at whose side he 
stood. It was as if the sunshine that flooded the scene had 
penetrated his heart and was glowing and burning there. 
But, glancing at Heine, he felt that her thoughts were far, 
far away from him, and that the sun was not shining in 
her heart. He longed to read her thoughts; but he had 
not the smallest clew to help him. 

Presently she moved on without speaking, and he, afraid 
to break the spell, followed her in silence. She took her 
way to the first terrace; there she paused and looked round. 

I do not see a sign of them,^'’ she remarked. ‘‘ Let us 
sit here and wait. If they do not come we will go and look 
for them at the music. It is lovely here, is it not?^^ she 
added, after a moment, with a little sigh of satisfaction. 

“ It is heavenly,^'’ answered the young fellow, radiantly; 
but, as his eyes were fixed on his companion's face,, it 
would seem as though liis remark had more reference to 
that than to view or garden. 

Then again, for the space of some seconds, Eeine seemed 
to have lost herself in memory, for her eyes wore the far- 
ofl look which Jack had already observed, and a wistful 
expression crossed the face he thought so infinitely charm- 
ing. He did not venture to break in upon her reflections. 
She came back from dream-land presently, and, turning, 
smiled at him. 

“ I was a long way off,^^ she said, as though answering 
his thoughts. “ I have a trick of taking flights from the 
present. It is not at all well-mannered of me. 

He would have protested, but she stopped him. 

“ So,^’ she remarked, ‘‘ Mr. Temple is your cousin? He 
is very good-looking. As a rule, I have a "strong leaning to 
good looks. 


OJ^CE AGAIN. 61 

Jack, in his honest heart, felt something almost akin to 
a twinge of jealousy. But he said, cordially — 

“ Oh, yes, he is a handsome chap; women generally like 
him.-’^ 

‘‘ I have an idea,^^ pursued Keine, in a reflective tone, 
“ that he does not like me. 

‘‘ Not like youl^^ echoed Jack, in the sort of tone which 
he might have used had some one brought forward the 
proposition that the world was square. 

‘^No,^^ said Reine. But that,^^ she went on, “ is not 
so much on account of anything I have done or left undone 
as because the lady to whom he was devoted when we met 
in Rome detested me, and probably gave him a bad im- 
pression of me.^^ 

Why did she detest you:^^ cried Jack. ‘‘Was she 
jealous of you?’’^ 

“ There was nothing to be jealous of,^^ returned Reine, 
serenely. “ She did not even know me.^^ 

“ Then how could she have spoken against you to him?'^ 

“ DonT you know,'’' said Reine, lightly, “ that the peo- 
ple wlio take our characters away are always those who do 
not know us? The lady had, I believe, made some little 
overture to being acquainted with me, but, to tell you the 
truth, and again Reine looked out seaward, and that 
melancholy expression deepened in her face, “I do not 
care to make new acquaintances. 1 like to have a few 
friends — real friends, in whom I believe, who believe in 
me; and beyond that,-’"’ with a little gesture of her hand, 
“social intercourse is well enough just to pass the time, 
but it is void, hollow — a sham.^'’ 

Would she ever let him be her friend? Jack wondered, 
eagerly; yet he did not dare put his thoughts into words. 
She had relapsed into silence, and presently he ventured to 
say something which had been on his mind all day. 

“ Do you know, Mrs. Chandos,’’^ he began, with diffi- 
dence, “ I hope you wonT mind my saying so, but I want 
awfully to read your books. 

Reine put her finger to her lips. “ Hush!'’^ she replied; 
“ that is a forbidden subject. I do not pose as a poetess, 
and I detest any one to speak to me about my books. 

Seeing how discomfited he looked she continued, in a 
lighter vein — 

“ Besides, I am quite sure poetry is not in your line.^’ 


62 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Jack was far too truthful to deny this impeachment, but 
he answered, with fervor — 

“ I should like a7iy thing that you wrote. 

tShe gave him a glance which was almost malicious. 

Do you like what is immoral and atheisticr^^ she in- 
quired. 

Jack’s face was a study. Wonder, doubt, misery, indig- 
nation, all played their part in it. 

“ That is what the critics, or at least some of them, call 
my verses. They are indelicate; they give evidence of be- 
ing written by a person to whom faith and modesty are but 
meaningless words, and the only thing they have to recom- 
mend them is a certain swing and rhythm probably caught 
from careful and protracted study of Swinburne.” 

Reine kept her eyes on Jack’s face, but it was turned 
from her; she saw the red color rise in it and his hand in- 
voluntarily clinch round his stick. Her own. face had 
flushed; she chose to repeat the hard things that had been 
written of her; but though she affected to despise criticism, 
this one sentence had always been as a dart thrust through 
her breast. Tor she was a modest, delicate, refined woman, 
and the lines she had written, if they breathed of passion, 
as indeed they did, were absolutely free from any taint of 
coarseness. Coarseness is often enough in the mind of the 
reader, even as beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” 

Jack was so full of pain and misery that he wanted a 
victim. 

• Tell me,” he cried, turning to her with flashing eyes, 

who said that, and I will kick him, no matter who he is!” 

Reine laughed; the vehemence of his championship did 
her good. 

“ And suppose,” she said, archly, “ it was a woman.” 

Jack’s face fell; the suggestion was like a douche of cold 
water on his ardor. 

“ Was it?” he asked, ruefully. 

“ I do not know. Never mind. Let us change the sub- 
ject. Shall we go and listen to the music?” 

She rose as she spoke. Jack was not so blithe now; the 
scene was not the same to him that it had been ten minutes 
ago. Reine, seeing the change in him, felt sorry for what 
she liad said, and exerted herself to talk freely and to re- 
move the painful impression from his mind. And she suc- 
ceeded soon enough. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


63 


'• (3 ack remarked without displeasure that his companion 
t (cited a gcood deal of observation of a respectfuj kind. 
HV dress and demeanor were those of a well-bred woman, 
a wOman of taste; her voice was low, her manner full of 
repose. But she was remarkably elegant, and her slight 
figure was graceful in the extreme. Reine was dressed en- 
tirely in black, with a sheen and glint of jet over rich silk; 
the only color about her was a tiny bright-hued bird in her 
bonnet. She carried in her hand a large black parasol 
bordered with flounces of fine lace and embroidered cun- 
ningly with a little bird which exactly matched the one in 
her bonnet. 

They entered the concert-room and seated themselves. 
A moment later the orchestra commenced the dreamy 
prelude of one of the favorite valses of the day. The first 
lingering notes were followed by a joyous burst of soul- 
stirring melody that made the blood tingle in Jack^s veins 
and filled his heart with a great desire to put his arm round 
Reine and glide away with her to that enchanting region 
where real lovers of dancing with sympathetic partners find 
themselves once and again. He turned eagerly to whisper 
his wish to her, but her eyes were closed, and presently, as 
he gazed at her delicate face, a tear forced itself from under 
her broad eyeJids. 

A choking sensation rose in Jack^s throat; a feeling of 
sympathy, of strong desire to console her, mingled with 
the passion stirred by the music. Never had so dntense a 
sentiment moved him since the days when he fancied him- 
self madly in love. He knew by instinct that this feeling 
was infinitely more exalted, more worthy, than that. Then 
a tormenting curiosity overwhelmed him to know Reine’s 
story. Had she a husband? Great Heaven! he thought, it' 
she had, he would never get over the knowledge. But 
what on earth had her cousin meant by that evasive answer 
to his question? 

Once more the music swelled into a joyful paean, then 
languished and died away in a wail of violins. Then he 
turned again to his companion, who was in the act of re- 
moving her handkerchief from her eyes. The}^ wore a 
lovely humid look, a look full of sadness, but, as they met 
his, she forced a smile. , 

“ Will you think me capricious, she whispered, ‘‘ if I 


64 


ONCE AGAIN. 


wish to go out again? Sometimes music is more t.CrAt 
can bear. That was lovely, but — but — j 

“ I know, I know,^^ said Jack, in a tone of whose ten 'J' 
ness he was not aware. “ Music does put strange the 
into one^s head sometimes.'’^ 

She looked at him with more interest than she had yet 
felt. She had not given him credit for being sympathetic 
or having a soul for music. 

“ I think all nice people care for music, she said, and 
her words set his heart beating with pleasure. 

At the door they came upon the rest of their party. 

‘‘ My dear Reine, we meet at last!^^ exclaimed her aunt. 
“ This is a terrible place for losing people; we really ought 
not to have left you in the jeweler^s, but we strolled a, little 
further on, and I suppose that is how we missed you. 

“All’s well that ends well,” returned Reine, gayly. 
“ And now we must be careful not to divide again.” 

Jack’s heart sunk at these words; he wanted to have her 
to himself; this last hour had been so heavenly. And to- 
morrow she was to return to Cannes, and he would still 
be at Nice, and, oh! how dull and altered the place would 
seem! 

Alwyne Temple was devoting himself to Dulcie, to whom 
it was evident he was greatly attracted. Jack saw this, 
and, always ready to be good-natured, suggested that his 
cousin should return to Nice with them to dine and sleep. 

Alwyne assented readily. He would be charmed. He 
had only come over here for a couple of days; in reality he 
was staying with his* sister at Cannes, but had found it 
rather slow there. 

A sudden thrill of joy shot through Jack’s breast. If 
his cousin Belle Pierpoint was at Cannes he would have an 
excellent pretext for going over there. He and Belle had 
always been the best of friends.. 

The day at Monte Carlo had been a thorough success, 
Mrs. Vernon pronounced, as the train bore them back to 
Nice. 

“ And,” said Jack, diffidently to Reine, “ have you— at 
least, I hope you have not been bored?” 

“ I have spent a very pleasant day/’ she answered, look- 
ing kindly at him- 


ONCE AGAIN. 


65 


. . CHAPTER vm. 

After dinner Sir John and his cousin strolled out to- 

f ether for a smoke and a chat. Alvv^yne was very full of 
)ulcie, the nicest, prettiest, most charming girl he had 
met for ages. 

Tremendous luck for you. Jack, traveling with h%i’, 
stopping ill the same hotel with her, and having such op- 
portunities,'’^ he said. 

“She is very nice, indeed,’^ Jack assented, without 
warmth, wondering how any man could have eyes for Dul- 
cie when Reine was present. But he thanked Heaven that 
such a case was possible and had even happened. 

Pie was burning to know something of Mrs. Chandos, 
but was deterred from asking questions of Alwyne first by 
shyness and secondly by an intuition that his cousin was 
prejudiced against her. He felt that he would want to kill 
any man who breathed a word in her disfavor. People 
sometimes fall in love insensibly, but Jack’s eyes were wide 
open, and he could not pretend to give any other word to 
the feeling which Reine had that day inspired in him tlian 
love. Alwyne himself opened the subject. 

“ I must say there is not much resemblance between the 
cousins,” he remarked. “I never saw two women more 
unlike in every way than Miss Vernon and Mrs. Chandos.” 

“ You knew Mrs. Chandos in Ro^e?” said Jack, inter- 
rogatively. 

“ Very slrgntly. I heard a good deal about her, but it 
doesn’t amuse me to run after ladies who give themsi^ves 
•airs.” . . ‘ 

Jack flushed, but the night concealed it from his cousin. 
He tried to speak indifferently. ** “ 

“ I have seen no sign of Mrs. Chandos giving herself 
airs. ” 

“She may not to you,” returned Alwyne;. “ indeed, I 
remarked she was uncommonly civil to you; but she is as 
capricious as a cat. I expect'she had her liead rather turned 
ii;, Rome, so that very few j^eople Avere good enough for 
She pretends not to care for society, puts on cynical 
airs, doesn’t, I’m told believe in anything, and writes im- 


66 


ONCE AGAIN. 


proper poetry; so she has got a reputation for being original^ 
and a few fools run after her.'’^ 

‘‘ What do you mean by improper poetry? asked Jack^ 
in a smothered voice, repressing a desire to take his cousin 
by the throat. 

“ Oh/^ said Alwyne, lightly^ it does not shock me, but 
I must say some of the verses are rather warm. The best 
part of it is that she is as cold as ice herself, and, I believe, 
hates men. She had rather a bad time with her husband. 

•Her husband! Jack^s heart gave a bound. At last he 
was to know. 

Has she a husband?’’ he asked. 

“ No; she got rid of him.” 

“ Ho you mean that she is divorced?” 

“I do mean that. He was rather a scamp — drank, I 
believe, and committed other atrocities; so after about a 
year she had enough of him and got a divorce. He had 
lots of money, but she would not have a halfpenny of it, 
and took her own name again. I dare say she led him 
rather a life: she looks as if she could. I expect author- 
esses are not very pleasant people to live with: I shouldn’t 
care for one, I know. Now, look at that pretty Miss Ver- 
non. I’ll be bound she couldn’t write a line of poetry to 
save her life; but I am sure she^d make a deuced nice little 
wife.” 

Jack had heard enough — too much — by this time. He 
felt an odd sensation in his throat; an angry pain gnawed 
at his chest. With strange abruptness, he started off into 
an encirely new topi% Alwyne observed nothing. The 
darkness had hidden the changing expression of Jack’s 
features from him, and he had been too much absorbed in 
himself all day to remark how much attracted his cousin 
was by Mrs. Chandos. Even now, his ideas being fixed on 
one subject, he did not notice Jack’s irrelevant remark. 

People say that it is Henry Bertram who has done Mrs. 
Chandos all the mischief,” he continued; and Jack, like 
the moth that has made an effort to get away from the 
light but is again drawn toward it, was forced to ask who 
Hei^ry Bertram was. 

“ You must have met him,*” answered Alwyne. “ He 
goes everywhere, is a very good fellow, and extremely popu- 
lar; but he believes in nothing, and has done his best to 
pervert Mrs. Chandos. At all events, she is devoted to 


ONCE AGAIN. 67 

liim, and he to her. When he is of the party, she seldom 
takes notice of any one else.^^ 

‘‘ Is she going to marry him?-’^ asked poor Jack, with a 
dreadful sinlang at his heart. 

‘‘ Good Lord, no! Bertram wouldn^t marry to save his 
soul, though, by the way — laughing — “ as he does not 
believe in souls or their being saved, that^s not very appro- 
priate. Oh, no: there^s nothing of that sft’t. They are 
purely platonic; and he is old enough to be her father. 
They are both clever, I suppose, and fancy themselves and 
each other, and think it fine not to believe in God. 

Jack felt that he could not bear any more of this. He 
knew that Alwyne^s speech was generally colored by ex- 
aggeration and a certain amount of malice, if he did not 
like the person of whom he spoke. But every word he said 
about Mrs. Chandos hurt his auditor more and more, and 
Jack suggested a return to the hotel. 

They found Mrs. Chester and Dulcie in the sitting-room. 
Lilah had gone to bed. The two other ladies had retired 
for a confidential chat. Sir John talked to his mother, 
and Alwyne devoted himself to Dulcie. Presently he sug- 
gested showing her some jihotographs, and went to his 
room in quest of them. On his ref urn, he laid them on 
the table, and, approaching his cousin, put a small book 
into his hand. 

There, Jack," he said, with a meaning smile, ‘‘is 
something that will interest you.^^ ^ 

Jack glanced at the title-page, and read, “ Verses from 
the South then, with an instinctive desire to conceal the 
book from his mother, he thrust it into his pocket. 

Mrs. Chester remarked the action, but said nothing. 
She was far from being a woman of the world, yet she was 
discreet in the way of not asking questions. 

Jack had only one idea now— to get away by himself and 
read this precious volume, to assure himself that Mrs. 
Chandos had been foully maligned. His mother saw that 
he Avas distrait, and half "fancied him to be ruffled by 
Alwyne^s taking possession of Dulcie. It Avas too bad of 
Alwyne, she thought, but he was always selfish and insisted 
on drawing the attention of every woman to himself. He 
was such a butterfiy, there was no fear of his standing seri- 
ously in his Cousins's way; but he ought to have seen how 


68 


OIs^CE AGAIN. 


matters stood, the excellent lady reflected, and not have 
interfered with dear J ohnnie. 

For she really contemplated the possibility of having- 
Dulcie for a daughter-in-law, and the idea commended 
itself to her. Dulcie was so amiable, so pretty, and so lady- 
like; all her ideas seemed so thoroughly proper, modest, 
and correct. It was not yet ten o^clock, so Jack could 
scarcely mak^ a pretext of going to bed; but he was pres- 
ently inspired by the idea that he wanted to look at one of 
the papers in the reading-room, and started olf as though 
he only intended to be absent for a few minutes. But, 
once outside the door, he rushed to his room, lighted his 
candles, flung himself into a chair, and, trembling with 
eagerness and other emotions which he did not pause to 
analyze, devoured the pages. 

That night was one which he would never forget if he 
lived to be a hundred. Until then it seemed to him as if 
he had never felt, never suffered. A thousand ideas and 
instincts were developed in him which had laid dormant 
before; his mind, generally so calm and unruffled, was torn 
by strange speculations; his even pulses throbbed with 
fever; love, jealousy, doubt, disappointment, fear, revolt, 
all struggled and fought and tore his heart with relentless 
fingers. 

He thought the verses beautiful; there was a rhythm, 
a cadence in them that struck softly on his senses; and 
yet, as he read, he wished — lioiv he wished! — that she had 
not written them. The current of passion underlying them 
smote him with jealous pangs: if she could write thus of 
love, it was because she had known and felt it. Who was 
the man, he wondered, bitterly, who had wrung these pas- 
sionate verses from her? He would have given his life, 
he thought, if she had penned them to him, for him alone, 
to be seen by no other eyes than his. But that she should 
have written them for some other man, and then have 
given them to the vulgar world to read and make mock of, 
to turn their delicacy into grossness, to utter coarse innu- 
endoes about them, seemed incomprehensible to him — 
jarred unspeakably on his finer perceptions. There was 
another thing which hurt him almost as much. He was 
not religious, he was far from being a goody-good young 
man, but he had been brought up among religious influ- 
ences, and it had never once entered his honest heart to 


ONCE AGAIN. 


69 


doubt God, or heaven, or hell, or any other of the faiths 
of Christianity. 

Through all the verses there breathed a spirit of intense 
melancholy, of utter hopelessness. Men were puppets of 
some cruel force, struggling, suffering without aim, with- 
- out guidance, graspiilg after happiness which ever eluded 
them, mocked at by fate, and trodden back into earth with 
the. dust and leaves of by-gone years. 

There was no indication of any trust in Divine love or 
goodness; and this proof that the woman he loved believed, 
as Alwyne had said, in nothing, hurt Jack cruelly. He 
thought with smothered hatred of the man who had taken 
the most precious of all gifts a woman can have, faith, 
from her; he clinched his fist involuntarily, as though her 
evil genius were within reach of a blow. 

It was two o^ clock in the morning, and still Jack sat 
there with his soul distraught and full of misery. lie 
loved this woman, and he did not want to love her; person- 
ally she was all that was sweet, fair, and gracious in his 
eyes, but his heart and mind could not approve of her. 
Yet he was madly anxious to hear what she herself had to 
say about these things: he did not want to judge her even 
by what she had written. Dut it was scarcely likely she 
would deign to give any explanation to him, whom she only 
seemed to regard with the patronizing kindness of a wom- 
an of the world for an overgrown boy. 

He went to bed, slept for a few hours, and woke early. 
The thoughts of the night before came back painfully to 
him, and he rose and went for a walk. It was a lovely 
morning, 'but he felt for once incapable of enjoying the air 
and exercise that were usually so stimulating to his vigor- 
ous health. .Of course he had but one idea — a mad longing 
to see Mrs. Chandos again, to look at her by the light of 
this new and painful revelation, and to know whether he 
would care less for her now. 

He breakfasted with his mother and Alwyne in their sit- 
ting-room. 

“Hallo, Jack!^^ cried his cousin, as they met: “what 
the deuce became of you last night? I hunted about for 
you all over the place. 

“ I went to bed,'’^ replied Jack. 

“ I say, old chap, you were not annoyed at my talking 


70 


ONCE AGAIN. 


to Miss Diilcie, were you? I wouldn^t trespass for the 
world oil your property, you know. • 

Jack saw that his mother was regarding him with some 
eagerness, as if she too suspected that he had been annoyed 
by Alwyne^s monopolizing the young lady. 

‘‘Not in the very least he replied, in a tone whose 
heartiness was calculated to remove doubt from both minds. 
‘ ‘ She is a very nice, pretty girl, and you shall both have 
my blessing if it is of any use to you.'’^ 

Mrs. Chester felt a twinge of disappointment. 

“ I hope, my dear Alwyne,'’^ she said, a little stiffly, 
“ that you will not make your attentions to Miss Vernon 
too marked. A^ou know her mother and I were at school 
together.'’^ 

Alwyne laughed gayly. 

“My dearest aunt,'’^ he replied, “I assure you the 
daughter of your school-friend shall be respected. But 
now,^^ coaxingly — and his manners were extremely seduct- 
ive when he wished them to be so — “ why should we not 
make up a party and go for a delightful drive? We can 
have two carriages, and Jack and I will go with Mrs. 
Chandos and her cousin, and you and Mrs. Vernon and 
Lilah in the other. 

Alwyne seldom troubled his head to consider Lilah^’s 
feelings, and she detested him cordially in consequence and 
never lost an opportunity of being spiteful to him. 

But Jack did not forget her, although Alwyne^s pro- 
posal seemed delightful to him. 

“ Poor little Lilah!'’ he said: “ we must think of her. 
She had a bad time yesterday, and will, I dare say, want a 
voice in arranging matters to-day." 

Alwy lie's look intimated plainly, “ Confound Lilah!" 
but he could not give verbal utterance to tlie sentiment. 
He had been a spoiled child all his life, and abhorred con- 
tradiction. 

Jack, seeing and interpreting his look, said, good- 
humoredly — 

“ Never nhnd, old chap; we will see that you are paired 
off with Miss Dulcie. Have you any idea, mother, what 
the other ladies are going to do to-day?" 

“I rather fancy," Mrs. Chester replied, “that Mrs. 
Chandos returns to Cannes this afternoon." And, as a 
swift change, a look of blank disappointment, crossed her 


OKCE AGAIJq-. 71 

son^s face, a sudden and unpleasant idea took possession of 
her mind. 

She hoped from the bottom of her heart that her dear 
son was not going to allow himself to be drawn away by 
the fascinations of this dangerous woman. For Alwyne, 
after Dulcie left them the previous evening, had given his 
aunt a little biographical sketch of Reine, even more highly 
colored and less favorable than the one which he had pre- 
sented to Jack. 

Mrs. Chester was, like many excellent women, narrow- 
minded. She was extremely religious, and thought of 
doubters and skeptics as miserable castaways directly under 
the Divine ban. A male unbeliever was a shocking spec- 
tacle, but there were no words adequate to describe her 
horror of a woman without religion. In her eyes, too, a 
divorced woman was a social pariah: if a woman was unfort- 
unate enough to have a bad husband, she must suffer her 
sad fate in silence and with resignation, seeking comfort 
in prayer and good works. Mrs. Chester was kind- 
hearted, very reticent of giving an unfavorable judgment 
upon any one, but her convictions were remarkably strong. 
She had only seen Mrs. Chandos for a few minutes, and 
had admired her genuinely and been struck by the charm 
of her manner; but after Alwyne '’s revelation she had felt 
strongly that the less- she and her family were brought in 
contact with Reine, the better. She was almost disposed 
to blame Mrs. Vernon for having introduced her to them. 

When she saw the look of pain and disappointment on 
her son^s face at the announcement of Mrs. Chandos^s de- 
parture, it gave her a shock as though the knowledge of a 
misfortune had come suddenly upon her. The next mo- 
ment she felt distinctly glad that temptation was to be re- 
moved from her dear son. Mrs. Chandos would leave 
Nice. John would forget her and resume his attentions 
to Dulcie. Alwyne, she hoped, would also go back either 
to Cannes or Monte Carlo, and their pleasant little party 
would be restored to its original composition. Sir John 
had at present given no intimation of any intention to re- 
turn to England, though, when they started, it was sup- 
posed that as soon as he had seen them comfortably settled 
at Nice he was to return to his hunting, hitherto the first 
object of his life. 

The door opened, and a waiter brought in a note from 


72 


OI^CE AGAIJ^. 


Mrs. Vernon. She wrote that her party would take advan- 
tage of the lovely weather to sit out on the Promenade: 
would Mrs. Chester and Lilah join them there? If not, 
she hoped they would all meet at lunch, when they might 
make some arrangements for the afternoon. 

“ It will do Lilah good to go out in her chair/ ^ said Sir 
John, rising with alacrity. “ I will go and ask her what 
she thinks about it.^^ He returned to say that Lilah was 
most anxious to be out, and Mrs. Chester wrote a line to 
Mrs. Vernon proposing that they should all meet on the 
Promenade in an Jiour's time. 

Lilah had made her brother promise to devote himself to 
her this morning — to sit and walk by her chair; and, how- 
ever irksome Jack found this promise to make and keep, he 
had not the heart to refuse or evade it. 

“ Come on,^^ said Alwyne to him; ‘‘ I see them out 
there but his cousin, repressing the eagerness he felt, 
merely answered, 

“ All right: you join them. I must wait for Lilah. ” 

So Alwyne went, and Jack paced the room in an agony 
of impatience until Lilah made her appearance. When she 
was settled in her chair they started for the Promenade, 
and presently came upon the rest of the party seated on a 
bench, Alwyne evidently bent on making himself agreeable 
to Dulcie, whilst her mother and Peine were deep in con- 
versation. As the chair drew up in front of them, they all 
rose and greeted Lilah, who received their attentions with 
great affability. She liked to be the center of attraction, 
and her wan little face lit up with smiles. Peine spoke 
very sweetly and kindly to her — told her they had missed 
her at Monte Carlo the day before, described the place to 
her, and said that her brother must certainly take her to 
spend a day there. She proposed to walk on a little way 
with Lilah in her chair, and the invalid was delighted. So 
they moved forward. Jack on one side. Peine on the other 
— he usually silent, but drinking in ^very tone of the gra- 
cious voice which, as he thought, dropped pearls and dia- 
monds; feeling every moment that his doubts about her 
were vanishing like a morning mist before the sunshine, 
and that she was the sweetest, most lovable woman upon 
Ood^s earth. It filled him with joy to see how Lilah took 
to her, Lilah who was so prone to show jealous dislike of 
any one whom he seemed to admire. But her sharp eyes 


OKCE AGAIK. 


73 


had not yet discovered his attraction to Eeine, her fixed idea 
■for the moment being that Dulcie was the object of his 
attentions and thoughts. 

Lilah talked quite confidentially to Reine; spoke of her 
own sutferings and privations, with tears in her eyes; of the 
hardship of being different from other people and unable 
to enjoy life as they enjoyed it. And Reine replied in her 
sympathetic voice that it was indeed hard, most hard, but 
that some day, perhaps, Lilah would outgrow her ailments; 
and she called to mind a wonderful cure that had been 
effected by some German baths in a similar case. 

Lilah’s eyes brightened. 

Oh,^’ she exclaimed, if I could only be well, I should 
be so happy 

“ But/^ said Reine, ‘‘ do you find that every one is hap- 
py just because they are free froms.aches and pains?^^ 

‘‘ If they are not, they ought to be,^^ returned Lilah,. 
peremptorily. “ I don^t pity any one who is strong, and 
sleeps well, and never has a headache. 

‘^What about heart-aches?^^ said Reine, with a sad little 
smile. 

“Oh, those are easily got over,^^ returned Lilah, with 
the flippancy of a person speaking of a disorder which he 
has never experienced. 

“ At all events, this lovely day ought to cure every 
ache,” said Reine, brightly. “It seems impossible to 
realize that we are so near Christmas. 

Jack, though comparatively happy at being in the com- 
pany of Mrs. Chandos, had the natural longing of a man 
who loves a woman to be alone with her; but Fate only 
granted him this opportunity for a very few minutes. His 
mind was full of questions that he desired to ask her, and 
he was keenly anxious to know when and where he was 
likely to see her again. 

“I am so awfully sorry that you are going away,^^ he 
said to her, taking advantage of the very first moment 
when they were out of ear-shot of the rest of the party. 

“ Thank you; you are very kind,^^ replied Reine, lightl}^ 

Her tone hurt him: it was as though she declined to take 
seriously the words that were so seriously meant. 

“ I wanted so much,” Jack went on, humbly, “ to have 
talked to you — to have asked you about— about a lot of 
things — about your book which I read last night.” 


74 


ONCE AGAIN. 


‘‘ Oli/^ said Eeine, in a voice that held a slight accent of 
mockery, ‘‘have you really been reading some of my 
verses? I hope they have not shocked you. 

“ I think they are beautiful/^ he said, and then stopped 
short. 

“ But!’^ she said, raising her eyes to him and smiling. 

I distinctly detect a but in your voice. 

Jack hesitated. The color deepened in his face. He 
ardently desired to speak, but some emotion chained his 
tongue. His very silence confirmed her suggestion. 

‘°You are shocked. You do not approve of them,^^ said 
Eeine, a faint pink illumining her own cheek. “ I am a 
thought-reader. You can not deceive me.^'' 

There was a touch of disdain in her tone and heart, a 
slight feeling of resentment that this young fellow whom 
she had passively tolerated as an admirer should presume 
to constitute himself a judge. 

“ Wh}^ do you take such a bad view of life?” burst out 
Jack, impetuously. “ Why do you write as if there were 
no good in anything: — as if the world was a miserable 
place, and there was nothing to look to in the future?’^ 

“ Perhaps I write according to my experience and con- 
victions,^^ she returned, with some coldness. 

“ No,^^ cried Jack, “ that can not be. I will not believe 
it is natural to you. Some one else has given you morbid 
thoughts. Why should you have such ideas — you who are 
beautiful, and whom every one loves? 

“ Including yOur cousin?” she asked, in a mocking voice. 

“ I do not think his opinion matters much,” replied 
Jack, committing a breach of tact in permitting her to see 
that her surmise was correct. 

Unreasonable as it was, Eeine was nettled by his admis- 
sion. She thought a score of hard things about herself, but 
she did not like to have it proved that any one thought ill 
of her. 

“ After all,” she said, coldly, “ I do not think that 
either he or you can be in a position to judge of the actions, 
thoughts, or feelings of a person comparatively unknown to 
you. Eveiy one who chooses to buy my books is, of course, 
at liberty to form his opinion of them, and find what fault 
he chooses with them; but he is not at liberty to discuss 
them with me or to take me to task for the sentiments ex- 
pressed in them. ” 


ONCE AGAIN. 


75 


“ Oh/^ stammered Jack, 
‘‘ you do not think I would 
to— 


utterly abashed and miserable, 
be such a presumptuous ass as 


But here they arrived at the hotel-door, at which Alwyne 
was standing. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Jack did not go in to lunch, but wandered about mis- 
erably alone. He had offended the woman he would have 
given anything he possessed to please, and he told himself 
that he was one of those fools who rush in where angels 
fear to tread, and that he had been guilty of an unpardon- 
able impertinence which she would probably never over- 
look. He might never see her again; in an hour she was 
going back to Cannes; probably if they ever met in future 
she would ignore him. Poor Jack, as he flung himself on 
a bench and surveyed the scene that seemed so glorious 
only an hour ago, was in a mood much more suited to com- 
prehend Mrs. Chandos's pessimistic views than he would 
then have thought possible. The present was melancholy 
and the future blank. It was a dreadful thing that, in the 
midst of a life which seemed full, complete, bright, one 
should be liable to have its whole pleasing tenor changed 
by the introduction of one fresh element. A man is happy 
and contented, thoroughly satisfied with his surroundings; 
he accidentally meets a woman, and forty-eight hours later 
she is the pivot on which his every thought and action 
turns; her presence and her smiles constitute Paradise, her 
absence and her frowns plunge him into misery. Yet every 
other incident of life is unchanged. Jack, in his normal 
condition, thought, hunting the panacea for all ills; but at 
this moment, when he told himself that he had better get 
back to it, the thought, so far from stimulating his fancy, 
made him feel profoundly dejected, and the sport he h^ 
so ardently loved seemed a very poor exchange for looking 
into the eyes of Reine Chandos on the shores of the blue 
Mediterranean. 

Gradually one overpowering idea took possession of him; 
he could not part with her under the ban of her displeas- 
ure; he must have one smile, one kind word, from her, or 
life would be intolerable. VVending his way into. the town, 
he selected a small basket* and had it filled with the choicest 


OXCE AGAIN. 


7G 

white flowers; elsewhere he, purchased a box of bonbons, 
and proceeded to the railway-station to await her arrival. 
Tort Line favored him so far that Mrs. Chandos came at- 
tended only by her maid, and with no relations or friends 
to see her off. 

Reiners heart was kind, and she was not capricious; she 
did not love to give pain to those who cared for her for the 
sake of accentuating her triumph. She saw, by the mingled 
humility aiiA eagerness of Jack^s manner, that he was 
wearing sackcloth for his offense and was dying to propiti- 
ate her. After all, poor boy, his crime had been a small 
one, and prompted not by impertinence, but by a too great 
interest in her which she regretted; so she smiled very 
kindly upon him, accepted his offerings, and seemed quite 
to have forgotten that he had displeased her. 

For all that he dared not venture to ask if he might call 
on her at Cannes when he went over to see his cousin, so 
desperately afraid was he lest she should refuse consent or 
show him that a visit would be unwelcome. But as he went 
back to the hotel with a lightened heart he upbraided him- 
self for his cowardice, and resolved that go he would, what- 
ever the result might be. 

He was not sorry to find that the rest of the party were 
out driving. His mother left word for him the direction 
which they had taken, but • he had no mind to join them, 
and preferred to saunter about with his own thoughts for 
company. 

At dinner he devoted his conversation entirely to Mrs. 
Vernon. That astute lady perfectly understood the object 
of his attentions, and willingly led the conversation to 
Reine, of whom she spoke in eulogistic and affectionate 
terms. She was so clever, so much admired; it was un- 
fortunate that her domestic experiences should have imbit- 
tered her life and thoughts, but no shadow of blame at- 
tached to her. Mrs. Vernon did not enter into particulars 
about Reine’s married life, and Jack was far too well man- 
nered to betray any curiosity upon the subject, though it 
was the one which of all others most interested him. 

Mrs. Vernon saw with pleasure how much attracted he 
was to her niece: it relieved her of the embarrassment 
which she feared in case his fancy had lighted upon Dulcie. 
Alwyne was paying her much more attention than Sir John 
had ever done, and Dulcie accepted it without any symp- 


ON^CE AGAIN. 


tom of awkwardness or displeasure; but this caused little 
trouble to Mrs. Vernon, as, in case of Mr. Temple courting 
his dismissal by overtures of a too pointed character, it 
would not be likely to lead to any diminution of friendship 
between the Vernon and Chester families. Indeed, Mrs. 
Vernon saw plainly enough that Mrs. Chester inwardly re- 
sented Alwyne’s interference with her son. 

Under other circumstances, Uulcie’s mother would have 
been pleased by Mr. Templets attentions, for she was 
aware that he was rich and that his position was undenia- 
ble. When she reflected on the dreadful bar which lay be- 
tween Dulcie and social advancement, a smothered fury 
took possession of her. The wretch who stood between her 
and fortune still lingered much in the same state, and, now 
that he had survived so long, it seemed improbable that he 
would die. When Mrs. Vernon looked at her daughter's 
pretty smiling face and remembered this appalling fact, 
she almost hated her. It was not as if the girl had been 
led away by strong passion; she was incapable of feeling it; 
why, already it was evident that she had almost forgotten 
the man for whom she had idiotically ruined her life. 

After dinner all the party adjourned for a time to Mrs. 
Chester’s spacious sitting-room, which had windows over- 
looking the sea. Lilah was full of Mrs. Chandos, and talked 
of little else. 

“ Is she not elegant and lovely.^” she asked her brother; 
and does she not dress beautifully.^ Oh, Johnnie, I am 
dying to read her books. You must get them for me. ” 

The first part of her remark had been delightful to Jack. 
He was sitting beside her with her hand in his, and he had 
almost involuntarily given it a little squeeze, but at her last 
words he as involuntarily unclasped it. A painful feeling 
contracted his heart. He knew that he loved, admired, 
respected Heine more than he had ever done any woman in 
his life, and yet he was distinctly conscious that he should 
not like Lilah to read her poetry. He was silent; it almost 
seemed as if he had not heard her. 

Johnnie,” she said, sharply, ‘‘ do you hear me? What 
are you thinking of?” 

Well, my dear,” he said, trying to smile, and looking 
as he felt, very awkward, “ Mrs. Chandos’s poetry is very 
clever, but it is very sad, and I think you ought to read 
something more cheerful. ” 


78 


OKOE AGAIN'. 


‘‘ I like sad books/^ cried Lilah, impetuously; “ they ap- 
peal to Pip much more than the others. I am sure/' bit- 
terly, ‘‘""niy life is sad enough, and it does me good to think 
that othei ^ple are miserable too, sometimes, even though 
they doD to have any cause. And so," gazing siid- 

denly upf - ‘‘ you have read them, have you? I 

thought you iiated poetry?" 

“ I have seen one book," he said, evasively. 

“ Oh, Johnnie, have you got it? Do, like a dear, fetch 
it for me." 

“ It is not proper reading for a little girl hke you," in- 
terposed Alwyne, who was fond of teasing her; and then 
he suddenly turned very red, remembering the presence of 
Mrs. Vernon and Dulcie. 

Lilah at once grasped at the opportunity for retaliation. 

“I think it is very rude of you to say Mrs. Chandos's 
book is improper before her aunt and cousin," she oried, 
sharply. 

“ I only said for a little girl," returned Alwyne, recover- 
ing himseli; “ for every one else it is delightful." 

“ I am not a little girl," retorted Lilah; I am twenty- 
one. Oh, Johnnie," again turning to her brother, “ do — 
do go and fetch it for me, there's^ a good boy. " 

Sir John was on the rack, but here his mother interposed. • 

“ You know, Lilah dear, it is not good for you to read at 
night. It excites you and makes your head ache. Wait 
until to-morrow. " 

“ Oh, very well," returned Lilah, pettishly. ‘‘ Of course 
I can never have anything I want. But I am quite sure," 
with a vindictive glance at Alwyne, “ that Mrs. Chandos 
never wrote anything that any one might not read." 

Have you read your cousin's poetry?" Alwyne whis- 
pered to Dulcie. 

“ Ho," she answered; “I do not care for poetry, and 
mamma said it was very clever, but that it was not alto- 
gether suitable for girls. " 

“ She was quite right," returned Alwyne, with some 
warmth. His morals were by no means of a high order, 
and most of his time was spent in the society of Mies who 
would not have been likely to take any additional hurt from 
what they read ; but with his admiration for Dulcie had 
come a revulsion in Alwyne's sentiments toward women, 
and he was as much attracted now to what he had been 


OXCE AGAIN. 


used to call a bread-and-butter miss as lit .<^en 

repelled by the genus. 

When, later, he and Jack were smoking ars to- 
gether on the jPromenade, he went into an on the 

subject of modesty and innocence. 

Jagk could not help laughing., 

‘‘ My dear old chap/^ he said, “ you have changed your 
tune with a vengeance since we last discussed the subject. 

But Alwyne insisted that he had always admired virtue in 
the main, though he might have amused himself with 
those who could not lay much claim to the attribute. 

And if,^^ he proceeded, “ I had any idea of marrying, 
which I have not, I can not imagine anything more de- 
lightful than to marry a girl like Dulcie Vernon. 

Why not marry herr^' suggested Jack. 

!Nqw, there is a girl,-’^ proceeded Alwyne, with enthu- 
siasm, “ thoroughly well brought up, as innocent as a daisy, 
who has not. I'll swear, a wrong thought in her dear little 
head, and who would be as incapable of deceiving one as — 
as an angel." 

Jack concurred heartily in his cousin's praise of Dulcie, 
and again suggested that li^ should take this ideal young 
lady to wife. 

I don't want to marry," returned Alwyne; I have 
always set my face against it; but, if I did, I can only say 
I never saw a girl I could better fancy. " 

‘‘ Where is Belle staying at Cannes?" inquired Jack, 
changing the subject with some abruptness. 

“ Oh," said Alwyne, turning toward him with a short,, 
laugh, the flame and the moth, eh?" 

“ VVhat do you mean?" exclaimed Jack, with a touch of 
anger in his tone. 

‘‘ I mean, my dear old chap," replied Alwyne, very de- 
cidedly, “ that you want to know Belle's address with a 
view to going over to Cannes, and that you want to go to 
Cannes not to see Belle, but to see Mrs. Chandos. Now, if 
you will take the advice of one who knows, you will leave 
that lady quite alone. You will only make yourself miser- 
able and won't do any good. She don't care for men; she 
will be civil tb you for a little time, and the moment she 
sees you mean business she will turn round upon you and 
wish you good-morning. It has haiipened to scores of fel- 
lows." 


ONCE AGAIN. 


.nuch obliged to you for your kind informa- 
tion/ i Jack^ with extreme stiffness. ‘‘And now 

perha ill answer my question about Belle. 

“Do. i angry. Jack/ ^ said his cousin. “I only 
told you the perfect truth to save you from future bother. 

“ I don’t see what right you or any one else has to give 
advice on a subject which you merely take a shot at — and 
a very bad shot, too.” 

“ We shall see,” returned Alwyne, dryly. “ Meantime, • 
Belle is staying at the Hotel de la Plage until she gets into 
the villa she has taken.” 

“I shall go over and see her to-morrow,” announced 
Jack, in a resolute tone, intended to forbid further remon- 
strance. “ Shall I give her any message for you?” 

“Yes; say I shall be over there in a day or two; though,. . 
to tell the truth, I am in no hurry to leave this. place at 
present. That dear little girl has become necessary to my 
existence. There is such a delightful ..shy look in those 
sweet blue eyes of hers, I could lay my life she’s never been 
in love. Fancy, Jack, the delight of being a girl’s first 
love^ — of making her heart really beat for the first time — 
of reading her dawning feelkigs in her innocent tell-tale 
eyes. ” 

“ Alwyne,” said Jack, seriously, “ you have no right to 
talk like that, or to attempt to win the girl’s love, if you 
do not really intend anything. Please remember that I 
introduced you to her, and that she and her mother belong 
to my mother’s party.” 

“ Don’t be afraid! I shall not forget anything,” re- 
turned Alwyne, lightly. 

But Jack’s scruples were not satisfied. 

“ It would be a blackguard thing,” he continued, “ to 
draw a girl on in the way you spoke of just now, and then 
to leave her and say you meant nothing.” 

“ I don’t see any sign of Miss Dulcie’s feelings being en- 
gaged at present. And don’t alarm yourself; I am not in 
the habit of doing ‘ blackguard things.’ ” 

Here they were joined by a friend, and the conversation 
came to an end. 

The next morning, after breakfast. Jack announced his 
intention of going to Cannes. 

His mother looked up .quickly, with a gleam of distress 
in her eyes; but Lilah, instead of combating the idea, as 


ONCE AGAIN. 


81 


she was prone to do any suggestion which was to take him 
from her side, said she thought he was quite right, and that 
he must give her love to dear Belle, and beg her to come 
over and spend a day with them very soon. The fact was 
that Li] ah would rather have done and suffered anything 
than that her dear brotlier should marry, and she had been 
in a terrible fright lest he should seriously take a fancy to 
Diilcie. Anything, therefore, that removed him from the 
orbit of her society was welcome to the jealous little sister. 

Jack esteemed himself most fortunate to encounter so 
little opposition, and it was with a joyous heart that he 
took the -train for Cannes. 

When he was ushered into Mrs. Pierpoint^s sitting-room 
that lady uttered a cry of mingled wonder and pleasure. 

“ My dear Jack,^^ she exclaimed, this is one of the 
greatest surprises of my life. What in the name of good 
fortune brings you here? Why, what a holiday the foxes 
must be having 

She gave her cheek to his cousinly salute, and he availed 
himself cordially of her generosity. 

Why, Belle,^^ he exclaimed, the content of his soul not 
being due alone to the sight of his favorite cousin, “ how 
well and how pretty you look! And how stout you are 
getting!^-’ 

“ Jack,^^ she replied, ‘‘you are a dear boy, but you 
never had a grain of tact. Why remind me at your very 
first word of the only sorrow of my life! Stout, too! — the 
coarsest, most revolting expression you could have chosen. 
As if I was a green-groceress, or the landlady of a pubic- 
house. 

“ My dear,^^ cried Jack, “ I meant it as a compliment, 
on my word of honor; it becomes you immensely. 

“ And it is for this,^^ pursued Mrs. Peirpoint, tragically, 
“ that I have taken to eating biscuits, which I hate, and 
have left off champagne and sweets, which I love. How- 
ever, now you have stabbed me to the heart, proceed, and 
tell me what brings you heie. 

“ 1 came to bring my mother and Lilah over. They are 
at Nice. We thought it might do poor little Lilah good, 
and the day before yesterday we met Alwyne at Monte 
Carlo, and he told us you were here.'’^ 

“ Is that horrid Mrs. Cunningham there?” asked Belle, 
with a tone of lively concern. , 


S2 


OJsCE AGAIJ^-. 


‘‘ I don^t think so/^ said Jack. I did not see Alwyne 
speak to any lady there; and he returned to Nice with us, 
and is there now.""^ 

“ Really? Why, what is he doing at Nicer^^ 

‘‘Just at present,^ ^ replied Jack, “ he is making himself 
very agreeable to a young lady of our party, and has dis- 
covered that he much prefers girls to married women. 

“ You don’t say so!” cried Belle. “ Who is she? and is 
he really serious? I do wish he would marry some nice girl 
and settle down. He has an unfortunate knack of always 
taking up with the most objectionable women. Tell me 
quick, Jack, who is she?” 

“ Miss Vernon — Miss Dulcie Vernon. Her mother and 
mine were at school together, and had not seen each other 
for years, till, oddly enough, they met in the railway- 
carriage going to Dover; and we have been together ever 
since.” 

“ What is she like? Is she nice? Is she pretty? Will 
she do?” 

“ She is everything that can be desired,” laughed Jack. 
“ My only fear is that he will pay her too much attention, 
and not mean anything.” 

“ Oh,” cried Belle, “ I must go over and inspect her. 
The one thing in the world that I want is to see that boy 
nicely married. I live in perpetual fear of some dreadful 
thing happening to him, and of his being obliged to marry 
some horrid woman or other who will pretend he has com- 
promised her.” 

“ I bring a special message, imploring you to come over 
and spend the day with us. When shall it be? To-mor- 
row?” 

“ Yes; to-morrow will suit me beautifully.” 

Jack was delighted at the turn things had taken. His 
visit seemed the most natural thing in the world. 

“ But, Jack,” exclaimed his cousin, with a searching 
glance, “ if she is so very desirable, and you have -been 
traveling with her, and are still stopping on and leaving 
your beloved foxes, how is it that your young affections have 
not become entangled?” 

“ Oh,” answered J^ck, lightly, “you know. Belle, that 
I am not at all inflammable. ” 

Belle looked at him shrewdly. 

“ When you are kindled I expect you will get very much. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


83 


burned, indeed. That is always tlie way 'with you unin- 
flammable people. 

Deep down in his heart Jack suspected that his cousin ^s 
words were true, but he put on an air of unconcern, and 
said, 

I am safe enough, my dear.^^ 

“ At present,^ ^ she answered, laughing. 

Then, little knowing how oracular were her words, 

“ But who can tell what a day may bring forth? A 
heart is lost all in a moment, just like one^s dressing-case 
on a journey. But to go back to Alwyne. Vernon — Ver- 
non — what Vernon?^-’ 

‘‘ There is a relation of theirs staying here,'’ ^ said Jack, 
so desperately afraid of his face betraying him that he 
walked to the window and pretended to be looking at some 
object outside — a cousin — a Mrs. Ohandos.'’'’ 

“ Mrs. Chandos!^^ cried Belle; you donT say so! How 
very curious 


CHAPTER X. 

Mrs. Pierpoint asked Jack a dozen questions about 
Mrs. Chandos, and before he had answered half of them 
his secret was in her possession. But she was too clever to 
let him be aware of her discovery, and good-naturedly 
talked away on the subject which interested him so vitally 
in the most natural way in the world. She did not even 
wait for his interrogatories, but proceeded to tell him all 
that he most wanted to know, and t-: 'elight him and in- 
crease his affection by singing the praises of the lady of his 
love. 

‘‘She is perfectly charming,^ ^ Mrs. Pierpoint declared; 
“ so clever, so graceful, so original; every one wants to 
know her. But she is very retiring, and so people are ill- 
natured and declare that she is proud and conceited; but I 
am sure she is nothing of the sort. My belief is that she 
is morbid on the subject of her position as a divorced 
woman; but every one knows that not a shadow of blame 
attaches to her. 

“ Is her husband alive Jack ventured to ask. 

“ He is drinking himself to death as fast as he can,'” an- 
swered Mrs. Pierpoint. “I do not quite know the real 


84 


OKCE AGAIN. 


story, but I believe that he drank before his marriage (and 
that her father knew it), but, as he was desperately in love 
with her, he gave it up for a time and broke out again very 
soon after their marriage. She was horrified, and did not 
attempt to conceal her disgust for him; then he struck her, 
and she left him. After that, he behaved in a manner 
which made it a very simple matter for her to get a 
divorce. 

Jack was not in the least aware that his hands were 
clinched like a vise round his stick, and that his eyes were 
fixed with startling intensity on his cousin^s face; and Mrs. 
Pier point was kind enough not to seem to notice the 
strangeness of his behavior. She turned carelessly to her 
work-basket and took out a piece of knitting. 

‘‘ What wretches some men are!"*^ she said, with a light 
laugh; “ it is no wonder she hates all the species. 

“ No wonder, indeed,^^ echoed Jack, with a long-drawn 
sigh. “ But does she?^^ eagerly. 

“ So I am told. The feeling is not reciprocal; men ad- 
mire her immensely. . 

I doiiT see how they can help it,^^ said Jack, innocent- 
ly. “ Does she live alone 

“No; she is never quite alone. She hates solitude, and 
she has two cr three devoted friends between whom she 
divides her time. She is well oft* since her father’s death, 
and a woman who has money need never be friendless. 
Just now she is staying with Mrs. Herbert; they have taken 
a villa together. Mrs. Herbert is a clever, agreeable wom- 
an, dreadfully delicate, and they bemoan life together in 
great luxury and comfort. By the way. Jack, suppose we 
go and call on them after lunch. What do you say?” 

Jack tried not to show his eagerness, but it displayed it- 
self in an increased show of affection for his cousin. Dur- 
ing luncheon he was so assiduous in his attentions to her 
that she said, with a malicious smile, 

“ My dear boy, I have a dreadful suspicion that you are 
either falling in love with me or are about to. Now, please 
don’t, because I have always gone in for the strictest pro- 
priety since my marriage, and I would not give Algy a mo- 
ment’s uneasiness for the world.” 

Jack laughed gayly. 

“#Aigy is the luckiest man in the world,” he said, “ and, 
if I were not your cousin. Heaven knows but what I might 


OKCE AGAIN. 


85 


fall a victim to youi^ charms. But up to this time I haven’t 
passed the cousinly boundary, have I, Belle You know 
cousins are allowed great latitude.” 

I thought it best to remind you in time/’ she replied, 
demurely. 

Jack was in a seventh heaven at the thought of the com- 
ing visit. What did he hope or expect from it? He could 
not have told; it was a feeling of intense joy such as comes 
to a child who hears suddenly in the midst of its lesson that 
it is to have a holiday. Only one anxiety troubled him — 
the fear lest Mrs. Chandos should not be at home. When, 
on reaching the villa, that fear was dispelled, and they were 
being ushered through the palm-lined hall to the saloon, 
his heart beat high, his blue eyes danced with pleasure. 
And in another second the illusion was gone. The servant 
opened the door so noiselessly that the occupants of the 
room were not aware of the presence of visitors until their 
names were announced. 

There were two persons sitting on a large couch with 
their backs to the door, evidently engrossed in an absorb- 
ing discussion. They were bending toward each other with 
eager and interested looks. One was Mrs. Chandos, the 
other a man, and a pang of jealousy shot through Jack’s 
heart, and the blue vault of his seventh heaven was hidden 
by inky clouds. Before Mrs. Chandos greeted him, before 
she had time to present her companion to the new-comers. 
Jack knew instinctively who this man was. And when Mrs. 
Chandos murmured, “Mrs. Pierpoint, Sir John Chester, 
Mr. Bertram,” he was quite prepared for the name. As 
was natural, the opposite sexes paired: Sir John seated 
himself near Mrs. Chandos, but not on the couch which 
Bertram had vacated; and Mrs. Pierpoint took possession 
of Mr. Bertram. 

The pleasure which Jack had so keenly anticipated was 
lost in disappointment; a cruel feeling of being de trap, of 
having interrupted a pleasant Ute-d-Ute overwhelmed him. 
Although Mrs. Chandos’s manner was courteous and even 
kind, poor Jack was weighed upon by the sense that he was 
not wanted. A miseraWe shyness crept over him; every 
particle of the blithe boldness which he had/felt five min- 
utes ago deserted him; he was merely an intruder. Instead 
of pouring out his pleasure at seeing her, of beggin*g her to 
come over to Nice agam as he had intended, of proposing 


86 


ONCE AGAIN. 


another party to Monte Carlo, he was oppressed by the 
feeling that he was nothing to her, that he in nowise in- 
terested her, that she could not care two straws for his com- 
pany under any circumstances, and that he was only a 
stupid, fox-hunting young squire who could not hope to 
inspire any interest in this charming, clever woman of the 
world. 

He stole a glance at Bertram, who was chatting gayly 
away to Mrs. Pierpoint, evidently amusing her by his con- 
versation. He was a man of middle age, with a face not 
handsome but of a pleasing expression; his manner was 
perfect, his voice particularly agreeable. Certainly he did 
not fulfill the conventional idea that Jack had formed of 
him as an atheist and the evil genius of Mrs. Chandos^s 
life. 

As he sat almost tongue-tied, how bitterly he envied the 
man^s genial ease of manner! with what mortification he 
secretly contrasted it with his own awkwardness! Jack 
was not himself to-day, for indeed he was w^ont to have 
plenty of cheery talk for women as well as for his own sex. 

Mrs. Chandos did most of the talking, and Jack answered 
as best he might, weighted with the dreadful sense that she 
did not want him, that he was boring her, and that she was 
dying to get back to the engrossing discussion which he had 
interrupted. 

Instead of the delight he had anticipated he was experi- 
encing purgatory. He wished that his cousin would give 
the signal for departure; he felt even more anxious to get 
away than he had been to come. But Belle showed no in- 
tention of moving; she was amused by her conversation 
with Mr. Bertram, and she thought she was doing Jack the 
greatest kindness in giving him the opportunity of a long 
chat with the lady of his love. 

With all her tact, Mrs. Chandos could not help at last 
showing a little weariness at the prolonged visit, and poor 
Jack, whose perceptions were terribly acute this afternoon, 
was miserable in the consciousness that she was bored. At 
last he said desperately to Belle that he was afraid of miss- 
ing his train back to Nice, although the excuse was of the 
baldest. But she took the hint, having become suddenly 
aware that the conversation of the other pair was somewhat 
strained and lagging. 

When they regained the carriage Jack^s face was so crest- 


OKCE AGAm. 


87 


fallen and his manner so changed that, in the kindness of 
her heart. Belle forbore to make any comment, and rattled 
on with the first thing which came into her head. It was 
praise of Mr. Bertram. 

He is perfectly charming, she said. “ I have heard 
so much of him, and always wanted to meet him. He is 
more interesting than a dozen young men; and I feel quite 
capable of falling in love with him myself.'’^ 

Belle had no idea of the dagger she was planting in 
Jack’s heart, or that he was already bitterly jealous of 
Henry Bertram. 

As Jack went back to Nice his thoughts were of the 
gloomiest. He wished he had never seen Mrs. Ohandos. 
He felt as though he would never be happy again. There 
was only one thing for him to do — to get back to his hunt- 
ing and his home interests. But somehow they had lost 
their savor now, and he felt a desperate clinging to this 
spot, which a few days ago he had vowed he could not 
stand more than a fortnight of at the outside. 

Meanwhile, Alwyne had been spending a very much 
more agreeable day. He had sat and walked with Dulcie 
and her mother on the Promenade in the morning, and he 
had driven with Dulcie and Lilah in the afterfioon. It 
was very evident, from the glowing expression of his fine 
hazel eyes, that his sentiments toward the fair girl opposite 
him were hourly intensifying, and Lilah was delighted to 
perceive it. Dulcie’s manner was shy and a little embar- 
rassed, but Alwyne was very far from guessing the real 
cause of this, and put it down to sweet modesty and dawn- 
ing love. In reality, Dulcie^s thoughts were chiefly con- 
cerned with Noel — with wondering if it were an absolute 
fact that he was nothing to her, and could in no way con- 
trol her future life and actions— and partly with a sense of 
shame that her affection for him, which she had rated so 
highly, had not only dwindled away to nothing, but threat- 
ened to change into positive aversion, while it was useless 
to conceal from herself that Alwyne society and atten- 
tions were extremely agreeable to her. 

Morton was in the highest spirits. She enjoyed the new 
life immensely; the visitors^ servants at the hotel formed 
quite a gay and brilliant society, and she had become bosom 
friends with Mrs. Chester’s maid, who gave her the min- 
utest particulars of all that concerned her family. Morton 


88 


ONCE. AGAIN. 


had at first made up her mind to a match between her 
young lady and Sir John, but, seeing this did not appear 
to progress as she had anticipated, she next turned her 
thoughts to his cousin. True, he had no title, but the 
maid told her that he was a good deal richer than Sir John, 
and had a finer country place. 

‘‘ Why, Miss Dulcie,^'’ said Morton, on her young lady^s 
return from driving, “ you are looking quite yourself 
again, I declare. I expect — significantly — “ you have 
been enjoying your drive. 

“Yes, I have, immensely, answered Dulcie, with a 
slight blush. And then she sat down and looked pensively 
out of the window. 

“ What a good-looking young gentleman Mr. Temple 
is!’^ remarked Morton, tentatively. “Much handsomer 
than Sir John. 

“ Yes,^^ acquiesced Dulcie. 

“ Now, why shouldn’t you be Mrs. Temple?” exclaimed 
Morton. “ Anybody can see it only remains with you. 
Miss Dulcie. He has lots of money and a fine place; and 
I’m sure the best thing you can do, to save more trouble, 
is j ust to get married right off. ” 

Dulcie turned uneasily in her chair. 

“ Morton,” she asked, “ are you sure mamma said that 
— that affair at the registry office was illegal?” 

“ Quite sure,” answered Morton, stoutly. “ She said it 
as plain as possible, and about your being a ward in 
chancery, and all of us being liable to be prosecuted. Oh, 
that’s right enough!” 

“ I wish I was quite sure,” uttered Dulcie. 

“ Why, Miss Dulcie, what’s to make you doubt it? You 
know your mamma isn’t the lady to say a thing if it wasn’t 
true. And she says to me at the time, ‘ The marriage is 
illegal; and think, Morton,’ she says, ^ what dreadful 
trouUe yon might have hrought my daughter into.’ You 
take my advice: if Mr. Temple proposes to you — and any 
one can see with half an eye that you’ve only to look kind 
at him and he will — you jump at it, and forget all that’s 
past and gone.” 

“But suppose” — and Dulcie trembled and her eyes 
dilated — “ suppose he ever heard anything about the 
other?” 

“ Who’s to 'tell him?” cried Morton. “I expect Mr. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


89 


Trevor, if he ever does recover, will be glad enough to hold 
his tongue. He won^t want to stand up and be shot at; 
and that’s what Mr. Temple ’ud do in precious quick time, 
you may depend, if he came troubling. ” 

Dulcie made up her weak mind to accept Alwyne’s at- 
tentions. Half an hour later she was alone in the sitting- 
room, when he came in with a message from Mrs. Chester. 
After he had delivered it, he stayed on a few minutes, and 
they stood together looking out of the window. Suddenly 
Alwyne took Dulcie’s hand, and, seeing how sliQ trembled, 
though she made no effort to release it, he, fascinated by 
her beauty and this evidence of maiden modesty, bent 
toward her and touched her lips with his. A sudden flame 
covered her from throat to brow, and she drew herself away 
from him. For, as a matter of fact, this was the first time 
that a man’s lips had kissed hers, her courtshi]) with Noel 
having taken place entirely in the open air and in public. 

Before Alwyne could follow up his advance, as the fire in 
his eyes betrayed his intention of doing, the door opened, 
and Mrs. Vernon appeared. In an instant she grasped the 
situation, and horror filled her breast. Here was an awful 
dilemma. Her daughter married to one man and receiving 
— in ignorance, it is true — the advances of another! 

But she gave not the faintest sign of observing the con- 
fusion of the pair, and listened with an excellent grace to 
the message which Alwyne promptly bethought himself of 
delivering. She took care that he should have no oppor- 
tunity of speaking alone with Dulcie again that evening, 
and Alwyne, who was burning to make love to this pretty 
creature with whom he was falling very much in love, was 
furious at being baffled in his intentions. 

"When Mrs. Vernon retired that night she was a prey to 
the most painful and harassing thoughts. She was exas- 
perated with Dulcie. Was the girl devoid of all heart, of 
all sense of decency, that, after having gone through so 
much for the sake of one man, she should be ready before 
a month had elapsed to fall into the arms of another! 

And now what was to be doner Should she tell Dulcie 
that her marriage was indeed no sham, but a miserable 
reality? No, she was afraid to do that until she knew 
whether Noel would recover. She had no confidence in her 
daughter now; she did not know what step the foolish. 


90 


ONCE AGAIN. 


headstrong girl might take next. She might elect to es- 
cape to her husband and bring about the which 

was the terror of Mrs. Yernon^s life. She had resolved that 
if the wretched man, as she called him in her thoughts, did 
recover, he should not claim his bride until a pretense of 
courtship and a religious ceremony had been gone through. 

On the other hand, if mercifully he should die, it would 
be far better that Dulcie should continue to believe the 
marriage had been invalid, in which case fear of the dis- 
grace of its being revealed would insure her keeping it a 
'* id secret. She must by some means keep young 



and her daughter apart; but, having discovered the 


girks powers of duplicity, she was horribly afraid of being 
outwitted by her. To mention the subject to Dulcie might 
be fatal: if she forbade her to give encouragement to Al- 
wyne she might ask leading questions to which it would be 
impossible to give misleading answers. And if Dulcie re- 
gained her freedom the fact was not to be lost sight of that 
Alwyne would be an excellent match. 

It required an immense amount of maneuvering to pre- 
vent the young people from conversing privately with each 
other, but Mrs. Vernon devoted her entire mind to the 
task. Had she been playing her cards in order to catch this 
spoiled, self-willed young man, she could not have succeed- 
ed more perfectly than by her present action. He chafed 
fiercely: his passion rose to fever-heat. Marriage, which 
he hated and avoided, now occupied a i:)rominent place in 
his designs. What on earth did the woman expect? he 
asked furiously of himself. Did she want a prince of the 
blood, that he, Alwyne Temple, who had been angled for 
by so many mothers and daughters — women of title, too, 
by Jove! — was not good enough for her? Had she set her 
mind upon Jack, who, in his cousin^s opinion, could not 
hold a candle to himself in any respect, except perhaps his 
trumpery baronetcy? If she had been very religious, like 
his aunt, he might have imagined that she disapproved of 
episodes in his life that might have reached her ears; but 
no! she was a thorough woman of the world: no squeam- 
ishness of that sort would affect her. He would have asked 
Dulcie; but no chance presented itself. 

For three days Mrs. Vernon^s success was complete in 
keeping her daughter beside her; on the fourth she was at- 
tacked by a terrible migraine, which rendered her absolutely 


ONCE AGAIN. 


91 


insensible and indifferent to anything but her own suffer- 
ings. 

Dulcie spent the morning with the Chester family, and 
Alwyne, rejoicing in the discomfiture of his foe, made plans 
for outwitting, her altogether. He took Jack into confi- 
dence and invoked his aid, and Jack, who was a victim to 
the tender passion at that moment, was only too ready to 
sympathize with and help his cousin. 

A big carriage was to be ordered for the afternoon. Mrs. 
Chester, Lilah, Dulcie, and Alwyne were to go inside, and 
Jack on the box. When they came to a certain mountain- 
ous region, the three active.-members of the party were to 
descend and walk, and Jack was to leave the other pair to 
each other ^s society, ff'hen Alwyije would ask for and re- 
ceive explanations, and — well, who knew what the end of 
it might be? 

All fell out as Alwyne had planned, and in due course, 
the walkers having alighted, the carriage having turned a 
corner, having unaccountably disappeared, the two young 
people were to all intents and purposes alone in the wide 
world. 

Alwyne’s heart beat with unusual rapidity: he had very 
often been alone with a woman to whom he intended to 
make love, but, somehow, this was different: there was an 
unwonted excitement about it. In former cases it had gen- 
erally been a foregone conclusion how his advances would 
be received, but now all was uncertainty. This pretty, 
charming girl blushed and smiled under his glances, but he 
had no proof that he had awakened any strong emotion in 
her modest breast, or that she was prepared to place her 
fate in his hands. 

Alwyne^s face was pale; his eyes shone with feverish 
brilliancy ; for once in his life his supreme confidence in his 
own powers of pleasing failed him: he was more diffident 
in the presence of tliis young girl than he had ever felt 
since his first love-affair. 

The moment had come when he was to put his fate to 
the touch/^ 


92 


Ols^CE AGAIl^-. 


CHAPTER XL 

Dulcie^s emotions were, taking into account her natu- 
rally phlegmatic disposition, considerably excited. Mingled 
with the pleasure of being in Alwyne’s company, with a 
decided intuition of the nature of his feelings, were the ele- 
ments of fear and uncertainty, and these had the effect of 
enhancing the situation and giving a keener interest to it. 
The love she had once imagined she felt for Noel had now 
transferred itself to Alwyne : indeed, she found him much 
handsomer and more attractive tharfpoor Noel. In his case 
there was no obstacle of poverty, and she looked to him to 
save her from the fears, perplexities, and evil consequences 
of her past folly. She recognized now that it had been 
folly. 

The feelings of both being worked up to a liigh pitch, it 
was not long before they broke into expression. Alwyne 
suddenly caught Dulcie^s hand, and the electric current of 
sympathy flashed from one to the other. It saved the 
necessity for further preamble. 

“ My darling cried Alwyne, and caught fair Hulcie in 
his arms. 

Modesty and a sense of fear not altogether painful caused 
the girl to resist his embrace, but she trembled so much 
that Alwyne led her to the bank and seated her there. 

“ Have I frightened you? What a brute I am!^^ he 
cried, with words and gestures suitable to the situation; 
for, in the nineteenth century, it is no longer possible to be 
original either in making love or anything else. And then 
he implored her to say she did not hate him, and Dulcie 
coyly reassured him. 

“ Tell me,^^ he entreated, “ why .you have seemed to 
avoid me lately — why I have never had a chance of saying 
a word alone to you.^^ 

Now, if >11 former times — that is to say, before the last 
three months — Dulcie had entertained any affection for her 
mother, it existed no longer, and she was only too glad of 
the opportunity of finding fault with and throwing blame 
upon her. 

‘‘ It was mammals doing,^^ she said. I do not know 


Oi^CE AGAIK. 


93 


why, but she hates me to talk to any one or to do anything^ 
I want to/^ 

Alwyne took a mental oath that his mother-in-law should 
be ousted from his menage in the happy future. 

What an infernal shame, my darling P' he cried. “ It 
is high time you were taken from her and given to some 
one who would never thwart youjn a single wish.'’^ 

Alwyne was probably not aware what a false and rash 
assertion he was making. Then he continued, eagerly — 

Why should your mother object to me? What has she 
to say against mer^’ 

Oh,^^ returned Dulcie, “she has never said anything 
against you, but I think she likes me to feel that I am en- 
tirely under her thumb, just as if I was ten years old.^^ 

“ I do not care a straw what she thinks,^ ^ cried Alwyne, 
disresi^ectfully, “ if only I could know that you cared about 
me. Tell me, darling, once more taking her hand, do 
you think you could love me? Will you be my wife?"^ 

A sudden remembrance flashed across Dulcie of that 
scene in the registry office, and made her falter and hesi- 
tate for a moment. 

Alwyne, in blissful ignorance of the thought that alarmed 
his beloved, saw only the diffidence of modesty in her hesi- 
tation, and pressed liis suit with increased ardor. 

Dulcie consented to his entreaties; the bond was sealed in 
the manner which custom and inclination dictate, and then 
they began to remember that the occupants of the carriage 
would be waiting for them. 

“ Will you tell your mother?^ ^ Alwyne asked, as they 
pursued their way, and Dulcie^s face blanched as she 
cried — - 

“ Oh, no, no! Not for the world 

“ Then I will!^^ said Alwyne, with a boldness that com- 
forted Ills betrothed — “ the very instant that she is well 
enough to see me. 

At this moment Sir John was seen in the distance wav- 
ing frantically to them. 

“ Do not say a word to any one until you have seen 
mamma!^^ pleaded Dulcie, earnestly; and Alwyne prom- 
ised; but he could not answer for his face, and that told its 
tale very plainly indeed. 

Lilah was quite irritable when they reached tlie carriage. 


94 


ONCE AGAIN. 


‘‘ We thought you were never coming/^ she exclaimed, 
pettishly. “ We shall not get home till midnight.^' 

Alwyne and. Dulcie were both so happy that they could 
afford to treat Lilah^s petulance with good humor, and they 
apologized humbly for having kept her waiting. But she 
was cross, and would not speak all the way home. 

“ It was just like that selfish Alwyne,^"* she said to her- 
self, forgetting— poor little girl! — that the epithet applied 
with even greater force to herself. 

Wlien Dulcie entered the sitting-room on her return, 
she found her mother lying on the sofa drinking tea. Her 
head was better, although she still felt weak. 

She did not reproach her daughter for having absented 
herself without leave, but it was evident from her manner 
that she was ill pleased. 

“ I shall not be well enough to dine at the table dHiote,” 
she said; ‘‘ so, as I do not care for you to dine there with- 
out me, I will order a cutlet for you up hdre. 

, “ Surely,^"* replied Dulcie, who did not relish the idea of 
a long evening tete-a-tete with her mother,'’^ Mrs. Chester 
is sufficient chaperon for me. 

I do not wish you to dine down-stairs without me,^^ re- 
peated Mrs. Vernon, in a tone that was intended to put an 
end to the discussion. 

The sullen look which often darkened Dulcie^ s face now 
came into it, and she left the room without another word. 
Mrs. Vernon sighed, as many a mother sighs who, after 
years of life and devotion to a child, finds herself repaid by 
hostility and coldness the moment she thwarts her in a love 
or fancied love-matter. 

The evening was no pleasant one. Three n;ionths ago 
Dulcie would have been affectionate and sympathetic in 
any ailment of her mother’s; to-night she was almost osten- 
tatiously indifferent to Mrs. Vernon’s discomfort, and did 
not make even the smallest inquiry about or reference to 
her sufferings. At half past nine she went to bed. 

It had been arranged between her and Alwyne that, if 
her mother was sufficiently recovered by the next morning 
to grant him an interview, Dulcie was to stand at the win- 
dow at half past ten, holding her handkerchief in her hand. 
If an interview was not to be hoped for, there would be no 
handkerchief. 

It was with joy that Alwyne saw the little cambric token 


OKCE AGAIE". 


95 


gently waving as lie walked by the hotel. Ten minutes 
later a note was handed to Mrs. Vernon asking her if she 
would permit Alwyne to do himself the honor of calling 
upon her in a quarter of an hour. Mrs. Vernon, groaning 
to herself, sent an answer saying that she would receive 
Mr. Temple at eleven o^clock. She then hurried to Dul- 
cie^s room to demand the explanation which she, alas! 
guessed too well. The young lady was not to be found. 
She had taken refuge in Morton ^s room, two flights of stairs 
higher up, and thither it did not occur to Mrs. Vernon to 
follow her. Swiftly she made up her mind how to act. 
She knew instinctively that Alwyne was prejudiced against 
her and regarded her as an adversary, and she half smiled 
to herself at the irony of fate as she thought how gladly 
and thankfully she would have listened to his suit but for 
Dulcie^s mad folly. 

Alwyne entered with a somewhat defiant air which he 
found it impossible to disguise; but he had sufficient good 
manners to inquire with some show of interest after Mrs. 
Vernon ^s health. He was a little surprised by the extreme 
graciousness and pleasantness of her manner, and insensi- 
bly his own became more genial, and he felt less antipa- 
thetic toward her. The nervousness wliich besets every 
suppliant for something he greatly desires and is not sure 
of obtaining nevertheless overcame him. His nether lip 
trembled slightty, and he drew his thick gold ring uneasily 
on and olf his finger. But he plunged manfully into his 
subject. 

I donH know whether you are surprised at my asking 
you to see me, but — but — The fact is,'^ he blurted out, 
“ I love your daughter, and I have come to ask your con- 
sent to — to my marrying her.^^ 

The sadness wliich Mrs. Vernon genuinely felt at not 
being able to give the answer she would so gladly have 
done stole into her face, and she said, very gently — 

‘‘ I am a little surprised, I must confess, at the sudden- 
ness of your proposal, as you have only known my .dear 
child for such a very short time; but — AM she hesitat- 
ed. 

‘‘ Perhaps,^ ^ exclaimed Alwyne, beginning to feel more 
hopeful at this reception, ‘‘you want to know something 
more about me, about my atfairs — whether I am in a posi- 
tion to — ’ ^ 


ONCE AGAIN. 


9C 


No, no, indeed, interrupted Mrs. Vernon, with ex- 
treme graciousness. ‘‘ I assure you I have no doubt what- 
ever on that subject. 

Then may I hope — cried Alwyne, eagerly; but Mrs. 
Vernon made a little negative gesture which stopped him 
in mid-sentence. 

Mrs. Vernon had, when she willed it, a very charming 
manner, and now she availed herself of it to the utmost. 

' 1 want you to believe, she said, almost caressingly, 

for his good looks and eager manner were eminently pleas- 
ing to lier — I want you to believe that I should like noth- 
ing better than to accept you as my daughter's husband, 
that all I know and have seen of you is entirely satisfactory 
to me, but that there are reasons, which have no reference 
of any kind to yourself, which make it impossible for me 
to consent to your engagement to her at present. 

A momentary silence; then Alwyne, looking at her with 
wide-open eyes, said — 

‘‘ You will surely, if such is the case, not object to tell- 
ing me what those reasons are?^^ 

Mrs. Vernon answered, with evident emotion, 

“ It is most natural that you should ask; under the cir- 
cumstances, you have every right to ask; and it makes me 
quite unhappy to think that it is utterly impossible for me 
to give you a straightforward answer. Do,^^ looking 
almost piteously at him, “ do try and have faith in me, 
and believe that I would not willingly put any obstacle be- 
tween you and Dulcie. 

Alwyne^s heart grew cold. He doubted Mrs. Vernon: if 
there had really been any sufficient obstacle, Dulcie would 
not so readily have accepted him. He spoke with an air 
of injury. 

“ May I ask if Miss Vernon is aware of the obstacle of 
which you speak 

It suddenly occurred to him that somewhere, in England 
or elsewhere, there might be a suitor whom this scheming 
mother considered more advantageous than himself, and 
whom she had hopes of entrapping. 

Mrs. Vernon hesitated, then, after a pause, answered, 

“ She is not altogether aware of it.^' 

Alwyne ^s temper rose. 

“It is not very satisfactory,’^ he answered, “to be re- 
fused without a reason. And I must say I consider it most 


OKCE AGAIN. 


97 


unfair, not to say humiliating, to me. You say you have 
no personal objection to me, and yet you refuse me. I 
can only imagine there must be some other man in the case 
whom you think more desirable. 

Mrs. Vernon gave a faintly audible groan. More de- 
sirable! gracious heavens! 

Indeed there is not,*’^ she replied, with emphasis. 

“ There is no other man in the case!^^ uttered Alwyne, 
with a keen glance, his suspicions not being entirely 
allayed. 

Mrs. Vernon objected to telling a deliberate lie. 

There are circumstances,^^ she said, avoiding his gaze, 

that make it impossible for me to entertain your proposal 
now, but they may be removed. If I could, I would gladly 
explain everything to you. Believe me, I quite understand 
your vexation, and even your doubts of me, but at the 
same time it is out of my power, at this moment, to be 
more explicit. 

Alwyne was baffled and furious. What more was there 
for him to say? 

“Will you allow me another interview with your daugh- 
ter?’^ he asked, and, to his surprise, Mrs. Vernon an- 
swered, 

“ Certainly. If you will come back in half an hour, 
you shall see her. 

“And you will not compel her inclinations?” he in- 
quired, with a mistrustful look. 

“ I will not. I will simply tell her the reason which I 
can not at present tell you, and she shall then give you her 
answer.” 

Alwyne took his hat and went moodily away, full of 
anger and distrust. Still, it would go hard with him if he 
did not get the truth out of his darling ingenuous Dulcie. 

The instant he left the room, Mrs. Vernon went again in 
search of her daughter, and this j^ime successfully. 

Dulcie was looking very nervous and ill at ease, nor was 
her mind reassured when she caught sight of the angry ex- 
pression on her mother’s face. Mrs. Vernon felt very bit- 
ter against the girl, and could not resist the taunt that rose 
to her lips. 

“You have a very constant heart, I must say, and your 
love must be extremely valuable, when, after eloping with 
4 


98 


ONCE AGAIN. 


and marrying one man, you are ready to receive the dec- 
laration of another almost immediately afterward!” 

Dulcie trembled and turned very white. Somehow she 
had expected her mother^s assistance and co-operation in 
this affair with Alwyne. 

‘‘You have placed me in a delightful position in sending 
Mr. Temple to propose to me for you. ” 

“ I thought — ” murmured Dulcie, then suddenly broke 
down and hid her face in her hands. 

Mrs. Vernon made a supreme effort to control herself. 
If she gave the rein to the anger which was boiling in her, 
she was aware that she would be temjited into some impru- 
dence of speech and would foil her own designs. 

After a silence of a minute, which it took her to suppress 
her feelings, she said, quietly, 

“You thought you were free from the consequences of 
your folly. I have made inquiries, and am by no means 
sure that such is the case. If Mr. Trevor recovers, it is 
quite possible that he may endeavor to prove the legality 
of the marriage. At all events, he may cause us a great 
deal of trouble and unpleasantness, and you will probably 
see that to accept any one else under such circumstances 
is entirely out of the question. It is impossible to tell the 
truth to Mr. Temple, who, in his indignation, would 
probably make the whole story public, and it is hardly like- 
ly that if he knew it he would wish to marry you. Still, 
Mr. Trevor may not recover; the story may never be 
known; and then it would be quite possible for you to marry 
Mr. 'hemple. He is coming to see you in half an hour, as 
he declines to believe in an obstacle which I can not explain 
to him: so I will leave you to think over what you mean to 
say to him. As you have brought this dilemma on your- 
self, you must get out of it as best you can. ” 

“ Oh,” sobbed Dulcie, in terror, “ I can not, I will not 
see him! Oh, mamma, pray donT be so cruel! AVhat can 
I do? what can I say?” 

“ Say anything except that you went out of your moth- 
er's house and were clandestinely married at a registry 
office,” answered Mrs. Vernon, pitilessly. “ See him you 
must and shall, and you are at liberty to tell him any story 
you please. I shall not iiermit myself to be made a scape- 
goat of by you. ” 

She went out and left Dulcie alone, crushed by the awful 


OKCE AGAIi^-. 


99 


retribution that had fallen upon her. She had never in her 
life acted or decided anything for herself : until her meeting 
with Noel, her mother had commanded and arranged, and 
she had obeyed with blind docility; then, when Noel gained 
influence over her, his will had been her law. Responsi- 
bility was to her the most terrible thing in the world. 
She shrunk shuddering from the thought of meeting Alwyne 
now — of having to explain or try to explain matters to 
. him. For what could she say? She would rather die than 
let him know the awful truth of which she was so bitterly 
ashamed. The security into which she had been lulled of 
late received a rude shock from her mother’s words. Noel 
might give trouble, and might try to prove the legality of 
the marriage! To be the wife of a poor man no longer 
seemed an enviable, delightful lot in her eyes: she was not 
aware that at twenty-one, or on her marriage sanctioned by 
the court, she would come into a comfortable little fortune 
of her own. 

She was half minded to put on her hat and rush from 
the hotel to avoid the dreaded interview, but the idea 
occurred to her that her mother would probably be on the 
watch against her escape, or that, worse still, she might 
run straight into the arms of Alwyne, who would not be 
far off. There was only one thing for it — to throw herself 
upon the mercy of her mother, who was so strong and so 
clever, and who never had any difficulty about knowing 
what to do. Hastily she dried her tears, bathed her eyes, 
and ran to the sitting-room. 

‘‘ Mamma,” she cried, flinging herself on her knees be- 
side her mother, “ I implore 3^ou not to be unkind to me. 
Oh, do — do tell me what to say! I will say anything you 
wish, but I can not think for m3^self.” 

Mrs. Vernon was slightly mollified. 

“ It is simple enough,” she said. “ You must say that 
you can not accept him at present, and that you can not 
now explain to him why, but that you hope he will remain 
your friend. He will of course try every persuasion in his 
power to get fhe truth from you; but that I think I can 
rely on your not telling him. ” 

“Mamma/’ pleaded Dulcie, must I see him? Oh, 
dear mamma, will you not see him again instead? Pray, 
pray do, and I will never disobey you again!” In her 
cowardice she would have promised anything. 


100 


OKCE A GAIK. 


No, thank you, my clear, returned Mrs. Vernon, dry- 
ly. “I have gone through one interview with Mr. Temple, 
and that is enough for me. Besides, I promised that you 
should see him; and you must.-’’ 

Dulcie sat on the floor, looking the image of despair. 

There came a knock at the door. A waiter announced 
Mr. Temple. Dulcie sprung to her feet, blushing like a 
carnation, and Mrs. Vernon, without a word, left the room, 
and the lovers together. 

Alwyne^s eyes flashed with pleasure. He advanced 
swiftly, and with one hand took Dulcie’s and put the 
other round her. But she drew back frightened. Good 
heavens! if she were really NoeBs wife, it would be a crime 
to receive such attentions from another man. 

“ No, no,'’^ she gasped; but he, being strong and willful, 
held her with gentle force and kissed her whether she would 
or no. 

Now, darling,^ ^ he cried, ‘‘tell me all about every- 
thing!^^ for, now that she was here, within his grasp, he 
made light in his heart of any obstacle. 

Dulcie trembled, and wished the floor would open and 
swallow her. 

“ No, really,^^ she expostulated, “ you must not; indeed 
you must not. Please do not. 

Whereupon Alwyne released her, thinking that modesty 
was delightful in theory, but a confomided nuisance in 
practice. 

“It is quite true what mamma told you,^*’ she faltered. 
“ I did not know before, but, but — 

“ Well,^^ said Alwyne, “ but you at all events, my dar- 
ling, will tell me why. I kiiow,"^ tenderly taking her hand, 
“ that you are not indifferent to me: you would not will- 
ingly make me wretched. ^Fell me, sweet love,^^ gently, 
“ what can there possibly be that you need mind telling 
me. Don^t you know that I adore you?^^ 

For all answer to his entreaty, Dulcie hid her face in her 
hands and wept bitterly. 

For so impetuous and self-willed a young man, Alwyne 
behaved with great forbearance. He drew her hands gen- 
tly from her face, he kissed away the tears that streamed 
from her eyes, and was as gentle and tender as any woman 
could have been. Dulcie made no resistance now; her 
natural weakness took refuge in his strength: she sub- 


ONCE AGAIN. 101 

mitted, and wished for nothing better than to shelter her- 
self in this new rock of defense. 

If only there were no awful reason to be given ! 


CHAPTER XII. 

Alwyne had felt certain that the gentle and yielding 
Dulcie would not be able to keep the truth from him; but 
he found it just as impossible to get a definite answer from 
her as from her mother. 

“ At least/^ he cried, his patience presently wearing to 
an end, ‘‘ at least tell me one thing. Is there any other 
man whom your mother wants you to marry:'^ 

Xo,^^ answered Dulcie, truthfully enough. 

‘‘ AVill you swear that.^^'-’ he said. 

“ A'es,^^ she replied. 

Alw3me got up and walked to the window in high per- 
plexity. . Several ideas passed rapidly through his mind, 
none of which, however, seemed to him sufficiently plausi- 
ble. A reason which Dulcie had not known yesterday, but 
the force of which she recognized the moment she learned 
it from her mother, and the absolute necessity for secrecy 
in the matter! 

There was no other man in the case! Then, with a view 
to allaying his latest suspicion, he came back, and said, 
gently. 

Can you never give me any hope that you will be my 
wife.^'^^ 

Dulcie hesitated. 

I may,^^ she faltered, if you will only wait. Oh, if 
you would only be a little patient, all may come right 

AVas ever a man placed in so perplexing, so maddening 
a situation? If Alwyne had not been so much in love, he 
would have been very angry; but this unexpected resistance 
and opposition increased his passion, and as he looked at 
the pretty tear-stained face, that was not disfigured by cry- 
ing, as most women^s faces are, he felt that he would i^ut 
up with a great deal to win her. 

“ It is awfully hard on me,^'’ he said; then, bending over 
her, Tell me, darling, that you really love me, that you 
will some day be mine, and then I will try to be patient.'’^ 

Any hankering that Dulcie may have ever entertained 


102 


OXCE AGAIK-. 


after a romantic situation must have been gratified to the 
full at this moment. Pleasure and fear were mingled in 
exact proportion — pleasure at the love she inspired, fear 
an the thought that she might be committing a crime in 
listening to the avowal of it. Then she bliuddered to re- 
member that she was perhaj)s the wife of a decrepit invalid 
— an imbecile; and she glanced U 23 at Alwyne^s straight fig- 
ure and fine features glowing with passion. Eomantic 
situations are not always delightful to the actors who take 
part in them. 

Dulcie did not answer his entreaty in so many words, 
but there was nothing in her manner or behavior that for- 
bade him to hope. 

‘‘But,’"' he said, presently, ‘‘what is to happen now? 
Am I not to be allowed to see you or write to you? How 
long am I to be kept on tenter-hooks?^'’ And here his 
natural irritability came to the front. 

“ It depends on mamma, ^ ’ answered Dulcie, disingenu- 
ously. 

A brilliant idea came to Alwyne. 

“ My darling, he cried, “ why should not you and I 
defy your mother and go off and get married without her 
knowing anything about it?^^ 

“No, 110,'’^ said Dulcie, shuddering. 

It was a horrible coincidence that he too should make 
this proposition. 

The door 02)ened, and Mrs. Vernon reappeared on the 
scene. The 3"oung people had had quite time enough, she 
thought, to say all they had to say, and she felt the deepest 
distrust of Dulcie. Heaven alone knew what folly she 
was capable of! It would be necesssary, she reflected, for 
her to have a few more words with Alwyne, and, unpleas- 
ant as it was, the duty must not be shirked. 

“I hope,^’ she said gently to him, “you are satisfied 
that my behavior is not influenced by any mere arbitrary 
feeling.'’^ Then, as he was stiffly silent, she continued, 
“ dfflere are family reasons which render it imperative that 
I should be silent for a certain time. As soon as I am able 
to give you an exjfianation, I shall do so, if you still desire 
it. You must remember that I have not given you any 
encouragement to make advances to my daughter, but, on 
the contrary, the moment I saw an inclination on your part 


AGAIN. 


103 


for her society^ I did my best to keep you from being alone 
with her.'’^ 

Alwyne preserved his hostile manner. 

“ My position is a most unpleasant one/" he said. I 
am neither refused nor accepted. I am simply put off 
with what I must say seem to me Very unreasonable ex- 
cuses. I love your daughter, and have no intention of giv- 
ing her up as long as she cares for me. Am I to be 
allowed to see her, or may I ask what your intentions on 
the subject are?"" 

“ If you continue to see her,"" answered Mrs. Vernon, 
with determination, ‘‘it must be only as any ordinary 
friend might. I warn you that I shall not permit you to 
be alone in her company after to-day. And, if you will 
take my advice, you will leave Nice and will not approach 
us again until a time, if it should ever come, when we are 
able to welcome you as 3^ou desire. "" 

Alwyne"s eyes blazed; his temper was getting the better 
of him. He turned to Dulcie. 

“ I)o you agree to this?"" he said, in a voice which he 
had the utmost difficulty in controlling. 

Dulcie shivered and looked down on the ground. 

“ Do you?"" he reiterated, his voice getting still more 
beyond hiffi. 

“ Oh,"" she cried, terrified at his tone, looking from him 
to her mother, and not reassured by what she saw in either 
face, “ we must do what mamma thinks right."" 

“ Then of course,"" said Alwyne, turning suddenly from 
fire to ice, “ there is nothing more for me to say."" 

And, taking his hat and making a gesture of stiff saluta- 
tion, he left the room. 

Mrs. Vernon reflected with some vindictiveness that it 
would be an excellent punishment for Dulcie to be handed 
over to a husband with a temper like Alwyne"s. 

Then, while Dulcie wept helplessl}^, she sat down and 
penned a telegram to her lawyer: 

“ What neios of invalids 

In the course of the afternoon she received an answer: 

“ Still in apathetic state. Removed from hospital ly 
friends yesterday . "" 

As Alwyne was rushing frantically up the hotel staircase 
to his room he ran into his cousin "s arms. 

“ Halloo!"" said Jack. “ Where are you off to?"" 


104 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Alwyne stopped short. 

“ I say/^ he remarked, with a sudden inspiration, ‘^let 
us go oyer to Monte Carlo! I want to get out of this. Do 
come, like a good chap! I am awfully bothered and wor- 
ried. I believe I shall go mad if I don't have some one to 
talk to. '' 

Jack would have demurred, but, seeing that Alwyne was 
really upset, he good-naturedly gave way. 

^^All right,'' he said. ‘‘I’ll just go and tell them. 
There's a train in a quarter of an hour." 

Poor Jack was himself in a bad way mentally. He was 
hanging on here day by day, and what for? he asked him- 
self, miserably. He knew there was no hope for him; the 
place bored him. to distraction; not once had he seen or 
heard anything of Eeine; and yet he felt as though he 
could not tear himself from the spot until he had at all 
events seen her once again. 'Mrs. Pierpoint, who was to 
have come over the day after his visit to Cannes, had caught 
cold, which confined her for a couple of days to her room ; 
after that, she had been occupied with moving to her villa, 
so Jack had seen nothing of her. He had read Peine 's 
poems over and over again ; he had possessed himself of her 
other book, and in turn his soul was vexed and fascinated 
over the pages, and he felt unsettled and miserable, as he 
had never in his life felt before, not even under the in- 
fluence of the passion from which he had manfully torn 
himself free. He was quite in a condition to sympathize 
with Alwyne, and as they had the railway-carriage to them- 
selves during the short journey, he listened with the greatest 
interest to Alwyne's tirade of love, disappointment, in- 
vective. 

What did it — what could it mean? Alwyne cried, over 
and over again. Was ever a man in this world placed in 
such a jDOsition? It was enough to drive him to despera- 
tion, to madness! Jack admitted all this. The only com- 
fort he could suggest was that there was no other man in 
the case. 

“But how can we tell?" cried Alwyne. “ That wom- 
an!" loading his desired mother-in-law with opprobrious 
epithets, “ is capable of telling any lie — a blanlved intrigu- 
ing old cat! And that dear little innocent thing is so shy, 
so sensitive, and so easily frightened; she is under her 
mother's thumb to such a degree that she could terrify her 


ONCE AGAIN. 


105 


into swearing anything. Why, if and Alwyne dwelt 
with conscious pride on I, ‘‘ could not get anything out of 
her, you may take your oath how crushed she is! My be- 
lief is that there is another man — some fellow with a title 
or something or other — she thinks there^s a chance of get- 
ting hold of. Perhaps ” — lashing himself into a rage — 
‘‘ he^s coming out here, and then, if he don^t propose, she 
may fall back upon me. Why, man alive, what other 
,[ reason can there be?^^ 

Jack was unable to suggest any. 

“ It is very mysterious, certainly,^^ he said, ‘‘ and mys- 
teries are exceedingly disagreeable; but then,^^ and his own 
heart sunk as he said it, “ you see, it isn^t as if you were 
utterly without hope. ^ ^ 

‘‘ I don’t know what to be at!” cried Alwyne. “ This 
sort of thing plays the devil with one. To go on seeing 
the girl day after day, and never to get a chance of being 
alone with her, will drive me mad. And yet I feel as if I 
ca7i^t tear myself away.” 

How well poor Jack could sympathize with him! 

‘‘ And the first time in my life I ever wanted to marry!” 
Alwyne went on, desperately. Why, this time last week 
I’d have laid you a thousand to ten against the possibility 
of such a thing happening. You know. Jack, how I 
loathed the idea. ” 

I suppose,” replied Jack, “ that if one likes a woman 
in the right sort of way, and she is free, marrying her is 
the thing one does think of.” 

The train pulled up. The young men jumped out. A 
moment later Jack’s heart was in his mouth, and his face 
was aflame, for there, in the act of alighting from a rail- 
way-carriage, was Mrs. Chandos. 

He rushed eagerly forward to her assistance. To his de- 
light she was only accompanied by another lady, to whom 
she at once introduced him. Alwyne was already acquaint- 
ed with her friend. 

Mrs. Chandos greeted Jack so kindly that a wild happi- 
ness took possession of him. He would think, she said, 
smiling, that she lived at Monte Carlo; but, in reality, this 
was only her second visit this season, and she was only 
here now because it was such a lovely day, and Mrs. Her- 
bert had insisted on coming. 

Mrs. Herbert joined in the conversation. 


106 


02SXE AGAIX. 


I felt the want of a litfcle excitement/^ she said, and 
I have brought a few louis to gamble with. Reine is 
shocked; she never gambles; she will sit on the terrace 
and look at the view while I lose my money.'’'’ 

Mrs. Herbert was a tall, fair, delicate-looking woman, 
with a distinguished air and a pleasant voice, apparently 
some ten years older than Reine. 

‘‘Mrs. Herbert,’^ said Alwyne, addressing himself to her, 
“ I am sure you have not breakfasted. Will you and Mrs. 
Chandos do us the honor of breakfasting with us first? and 
then we will go and enjoy a gamble. I also have brought 
a httle money to dispose of.’^ 

‘‘I am dying of hunger,^’ she answered, pleasantly, 
“ and it would be very nice to have a table together.^’ 

By which she intended to convey to him that, though she 
and her friends would lunch in their company, she did not 
intend to be their guests. 

Alwyne called a carriage, put the ladies into it, and he 
and Jack walked up through the grounds and arrived in 
time to receive them at the hotel. 

“ This is great luck!” exclaimed Alwyne to his cousin. 
“ I shall see whether I can’t get something out of Mrs. 
Chandos. You, Jack, like a good fellow, take Mrs. Her- 
bert off; you will find her an awfully nice woman.” 

Jack’s face fell about two inches. This was indeed a 
severe test of friendship. To take off the nicest woman in 
the world and to leave Reine to another man seemed an 
unbearable hardship. Alwyne, engrossed though he was 
with himself, could not fail to remark the deep* chagrin 
written on every line of Jack’s countenance. 

“ I say, old chap,” he said, “ you must really remember 
how immensely important this is to me — almost a matter 
of life and death, you know. I promise you shall have 
your chance afterward; only let me get Mrs. Chandos alone 
for half an hour. ” 

Nothing could have been cheerier than this little party 
of four. Mrs. Herbert and Reine had the pleasing effect 
of bringing out each other’s liveliest and brightest qualities 
in public. Many women can only be gay and vivacious at 
the expense of making a noise and attracting attention, but 
these two were brilliant examples of how bright and pleas- 
ant ladies may be in an entirely undemonstrative fashion. 
Mrs. Herbert at once took a great fancy to Jack, whose 


OKCE AG A IX. 


107 


frank manner and kindly face impressed her agreeably, 
and it was not five minutes before she was perfectly aware 
of what he imagined to be a secret tightly locked in his 
own breast. She resolved to help him, for, although she 
was herself a widow devoutly thankful for her freedom and 
keenly alive to its advantages, she had, as Reine said, an 
absurd notion that every other woman would be the better 
for having a husband. 

If Jack had been able to think of anything or any one 
but Reine, he would doubtless have at once reciprocated 
her good feeling; but during luncheon he could scarcely 
take his eyes from Mrs. Chandos, and Alwyne, remember- 
ing that he was going to carry off the apple of his cousin^s 
eye presently, devoted himself to Mrs. Herbert. And, 
truth to tell, if it had not been for his eagerness to elicit 
something bearing on his own affairs from Reine, he would 
have preferred the society of the other lady. She was al- 
ways such good company and so pleasant; she never did or 
said anything to wound the anwur of any man, un- 

less he ventured on a liberty of speech, and that was a very 
rare event. 

It was with great reluctance, although his good breeding 
prevented him from giving evidence of it, that when, after 
luncheon, they adjourned to the Casino, Jack fell behind 
with Mrs. Herbert as Alwyne led the way with her friend. 
But ere long he was tolerably reconciled to his fate, for his 
companion adroitly broached the subject that was so near 
his heart, and then professing surprise at his knowing so 
little of Cannes, raised him to a seventh heaven by pro- 
posing that she and Mrs. Chandos should make him better 
acquainted with it. 

Meantime Alwyne had conducted his companion to a 
sheltered spot in the gardens, and was proceeding to con- 
fide in her. For he had not the gift of reticence, and, if a 
thing engrossed his thoughts, insisted on talking of it ad 
nauseam to any one to whom he chose for the moment to 
unbosom himself. 

Reine listened with no little surprise. She did not per- 
mit the feeling to show itself in her face or manner; these 
were both sympathetic and interested as she gave ear to 
the outburst of Alwyne^s passion, perplexity, and despair. 
But she wondered secretly how her aunt could for a mo- 
ment have permitted him to hope under the circumstances 


108 


Ois-CE AGAIl^-. 


—have allowed him to approach Dulcie with words of love 
while she was another man^s wife. It then occurred to her 
that Mrs. Vernon might possibly have had tidings of the 
husband’s death, either actual or imminent: indeed, that 
was the only way in which she could reconcile to herself 
her aunt’s conduct in the matter. Even then she could 
not thoroughly approve. 

It was evident that Alwyne hoped to extract some clew 
to the secret from her, but, while listening with every mark 
of sympathy to his recital, she disclaimed all knowledge of 
her aunt’s reasons and objections, and confined herself en- 
tirely to speaking in kind and aftectionate terms of Dulcie. 
Alwyne, baffled in the most important particular, still de- 
rived no little comfort and pleasure from talking about the 
object of his affections. He went so far as to implore Mrs. 
Chandos’s good offices in his behalf. She asked him, smil- 
ing, why he should want any assistance when he had so 
much to recommend him? He was so much pleasanter in 
the humble phase of non-accepted suitor than she Inxd ever 
])efore seen him, that Heine was inclined to revoke her pre- 
vious judgment of him. And Alwyne, who had up to this 
time been rather spiteful and ill disposed toward her, vowed 
that she was really a charming woman, and, having talked 
to her about himself unweariedly for the space of an hour, 
began to reflect that perhaps he ought to let Jack have a 
turn, and assented to his companion’s proposal that they 
should go and look for the other members of the party. 

Mrs. Herbert and Jack were still at the tables. They 
had been playing with varying success, and were now a 
little to the good. Alwyne made his venture, won; staked 
again, won: agaiil, won; again, lost; doubled liis stake, 
and ended by losing. 

The ladies expressed a wish to go to the concert-room, 
and thither they repaired, Alwyne now devoting himself to 
Mrs. Herbert. A strange shyness had come over Jack — 
an unjust sense of self -depreciation. He felt that Heine 
•must think him a fool and be bored by him. But that 
lady was in an excellent humor, and talked gayly to him 
in the intervals between the music, and his diffidence gave 
way to a feeling of supreme happiness. His tongue was 
unloosed; he was no longer shy and silent; the world’s 
face seemed to have changed when they emerged into the 
sunshine; if this was not Paradise he wanted no fairer one. 


ON-CE AGAllT. 


When, in the train, Mrs. Herbert invited the young men 
to lunch with tjiem next day, Heine cordially seconded the 
invitation. Jack accepted joyfully, Alwyne with reserve. 
He was not sure in his own heart that he could tear him- 
self away from Dulcie. For, so far from having any in- 
tention of leaving Nice, he had resolved that he would stay 
near his beloved and see her and fair play at the same 
time. 

At dinner that evening he sat opposite Dulcie, and his 
eyes were so full of expressive tire, and his glances at her 
pretty face so long and ardent, that Mrs. Vernon, who sat 
on thorns lest his very marked conduct should excite atten- 
tion, took a sudden resolve. As they left the dining-room 
Mrs. Chester joined her, and Alwyne was enabled to ap- 
proach Dulcie; but, by a sudden turn of the head, the dis- 
tracted mother saw him put a note into her hand. The 
moment Mrs. Vernon reached their sitting-room, having 
declined Mrs. Chester's pressing invitation to join their 
party both for herself and Dulcie, she turned to her daugh- 
ter and said, in a tone that frightened the girl — 

“ Read Mr. Templets letter at once!"^ 

Dulcie demurred, but Mrs. Vernon insisted, almost with 
violence, and Dulcie gave in and read it tremblingly. 

Her mother watched her sternly. 

“ It is, I presume, a love-letter. No, do not be afraid,^’ 
as Dulcie instinctively put it behind her back. “ I have no 
wisli to see it. I have only this to say to you. Mr. Trevor 
is alive and likely to live, and he is your husband.^' 

Then, while Dulcie, white as death, sunk half fainting 
on the sofa, Mrs. Vernon passionately seized her desk, and 
wrote on a sheet of paper — 

‘‘ Either you, or , I and my daughter, leave Nice to-mor- 
row. If I tind in the morning that you are still here we go 
by the afternoon train. 

She directed it to Alwyne Temple, Esq.,^" and ringing 
the bell, gave it to the waiter to be delivered at once. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Mrs. Herbert and Reine had dined, and were drinking 
coffee in the pretty salon of their villa. Mrs. Herbert w^as 
lying on a couch drawn toward the cheerful wood tire, and 


no 


OXCE AGAIN. 


Reine sat half buried in a big chair, with her feet reposing 
on a foot-stool and warming at the blaze. She seemed en- 
grossed with her thoughts, as indeed she was. A strong 
sense of honor was one of her chief attributes, and she was 
at a loss to understand how her aunt, for whom she had a 
certain respect and esteem, could have acted toward Alwyne 
Temple in so disingenuous a manner. Mrs. Herbert's voice 
broke in upon her reflections. 

My love,-’^ it said, ‘‘ what is your busy brain cogitating 
so deeply about?’ ’ 

Reine looked up and smiled. 

‘‘ It is quite at your service, it you have any ideas to sug- 
gest to it. ” 

Only quite trivial ones,” replied her friend. “ I think 
we had a very pleasant day, and I found our cavaliers most 
agreeable.” 

“ Yes,” assented Reine, but without much enthusiasm. 

‘‘ Mr. Temple is remarkably handsome,” pursued Mrs. 
Herbert, but 1 23refer his cousin. He looks so kind and 
good-tempered.” 

“ Alwyne Temple has improved, I think,” observed 
Reine. “ I never liked him so well as to-day. He was 
much less self-assertive than usual.” 

By the way, what were you and he so engrossed in, 
and where did you disappear to?” 

Mrs. Chandos had few secrets from her friend, with 
whom she lived on terms of affectionate intimacy, so she 
did not hesitate to tell her about Alwyne ’s attraction to her 
cousin, though she gave no hint of Hulcie’s secret. 

“ Between ourselves, strictly between ourselves, Mia, he 
has fallen in love with my pretty cousin, and, as he is a 
young gentleman of an impetuous disposition, he is dread- 
fully perturbed because he is not received by my aunt with 
open arms.” 

“ But, my love, he has lots of money,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Herbert. ‘‘ Why is he not received with open arms?” 

“ Really, Mia,” .returned Reine, with a shade of impa- 
tience, ‘‘ you are just like every other woman. If a man”' 
has money, there is no consideration of any possible sort or 
kind of sufficient importance to stand in his way. ” 

After all,” smiled Mrs. Herbert, with an apologetic 
little air, “ you know, poetess though you are, that that is 


OKCE AGAIIs^ 111 

a very big consideration. Comfort and luxury are by no 
means words of empty sound in your ears, my love.^’ 

“ Oh, no doubt everything is easier to be endured by 
means of money,’^ returned Reine; “ but do you think, if 
I were given the choice of happiness or money, I should 
hesitate 

‘‘ There is no such thing as happiness, replied Mrs. 
Herbert, didactically; “ as the old conundrum says, the 
only place where it is always to be found is in the diction- 
ary. ^ Our life is made up of toleration, endurance, with 
occasional flashes of hope and pleasure and frequent long 
periods of suffering and misery. Physical comfort makes 
toleration easier than anything else; money gives physical 
comfort. But, after all, why is this rich and handsome 
young man not received with open arms? Is your aunt 
ambitious? is she bent on a title?^’ 

I have not seen her,^^ replied Reine, sinde the day 
when she and Dulcie first made his acquaintance. You re- 
member, Mia, I told you of the meeting. 

But is he refused for good and all?'^ 

“ He was evidently not accepted. And nothing in the 
world could be so calculated to increase his devotion as a 
little opposition. ” 

“ Is that why it is done, do you think?^^ 

“ I must hear what my aunt says,^^ returned Reine, 
evasively. I think of going over to Nice again before the 
end of the week.^"’ 

Not to stay!^-’ exclaimed her friend. I really wonT 
have you go away again to stay! I am wretched without 
you, and your aunt can not want you half as much as Ido.^' 

“ No, only for the day,^^ said Reine. 

Mrs. Herbert gave a sigh of relief. 

That is all right, she said. ‘‘Reine, my dear, do 
^ you know I think Sir John Chester has fallen in love with 
‘ you?’" 

“ Do you?"" observed Reine, indifferently. “ You gen- 
erally think that of every man."" 

“I may be forgiven if I do, since it not unfrequently, 
happens. But I approve of Sir John much more than of 
most of your suitors. "" 

“ Have you ascertained, Mia,"" asked her friend, with 
slightly veiled sarcasm, “ that he has money enough to in- 
sure toleration of life-Yand of himself?"" 


112 


ONCE AGAIN. 


“ How dare you speak in that tone to laughed Mrs, 
Herbert. ‘‘You know it is quite impossible for you to 
crush me as you do impertinent acquaintances who take 
liberties. ” 

“You are too frail to be crushed/^ answered Reine, wdth 
a smile. 

“ Thanks for your magnanimity. But now what do you 
think of him yourself 

“ I have not thought much about him at present/^ said 
Reine. “ But to please you — assuming an air of reflec- 
tion — “ I will. I think — pausing and appearing to de- 
liberate — “he looks very English, very clean, very good- 
tempered. He has beautiful teeth. And — ah, yes, by the 
way, he behaves charmingly to his mother and to that poor 
little invalid sister. Yes, Mia, I think he is an excellent 
type of a young English sportsman. I feel sure he is a 
straight rider and a good shot, and I dare say plays cricket 
and lawn- tennis and is good all round at country pursuits.-’^ 

Mrs. Herbert surveyed her friend critically. 

“ How heartless you are! she said. ' 

“ I wish I were returned Reine, with a profound sigh. 

“ Take courage; you will be in time,^^ smiled Mrs. Her- 
bert, changing her tone to a light one, “ and when that 
time comes you will arrive at the nearest approach possible 
to happiness. I, thank Heaven, have worn my heart out. 
It used to give me an immense deal of trouble. Eor twenty 
years — from fifteen, to thirty-five — it was the curse of my 
life. I was always loving, or wanting to love, and, when 
I did, consuming and fretting myself ' to a shadow about the 
object or fancied object of my affection. How,^^gayly, 
^ “ my heart has completely frittered itself away. I could 
not love if J upiter himself put on his most seductive shape 
to fascinate me. No human being is necessary to my ex- 
istence; there is no one whom I could not do without, ex- 
cept,^'’ laughing, ‘^you, my love, whilst I am here. The 
real compensation of growing old is, as far as my experi- 
ence goes, the fading of those turbulent emotions that 
were the joy and the despair of one^s youth. I am not 
' easily disappointed, because I expect nothing; pleasure- 
seeking has become an intolerable bore to me; the society 
of a few people I like, fresh air, beautiful scenery, are the 
only things I care for, and, if I had but a digestion and an 
appetite worth dignifying by the name and could enjoy the 


ONCE AGAIN. 


113 


pleasures of the table^, I should look upon old age as an un- 
mitigated boon.^’ 

“ How you talk, Mia!^^ interrupted Reine. “ Any one 
Avould think you were seventy. 

“I am a hundred and seventy/^ replied Mrs. Herbert, 
“ and I watch the passions and griefs and loves of you 
young people from afar, with a sort of amused wonder that 
you can attach so much importance to them, and with total 
oblivion of the fact that I was ever a victim to the same 
passions myself. It is a never-ending marvel to me that 
years can so entirely change our views on almost every 
subject; the change, they tell us, that is worked in our 
constitutions is as nothing to it. Fifteen years ago I was 
excitable, jealous, exacting, ambitious, with the most pro- 
nounced ideas on almost every subject; now I am calm, 
tolerant, indifferent, unprejudiced, and absolutely heedless 
of social advancement. I can see that there are two sides 
to every question, and so much to be said on both that it is 
easier to let the whole matter slide than to attempt to ar- 
rive at an absolute conclusion about it. I used to rebel 
against what I thought the injustice and cruelty of life; I 
insisted on. prying into the motives and reasons of things, 
and was deeply indignant because satisfactory answers were 
not presented to my intelligence. I now take refuge in the 
doctrine of the Unknowable, and have left off asking ques- 
tions. No one can explain to me the great enigma of life 
and suffering. I listen to the various arguments with 
which people who think they knojv attempt from time to 
time to convince me. I never contradict them; I smile 
and let them imagine they have produced their effect, but 
each successive argument makes me more certain that the 
mystery is unknown and unknowable. I no longer beat my 
wings against the bars of my cage; I doze on my perch and 
liail the end with tolerable composure. 1 have even given 
up asking, except once now and then when I am more ill 
or suffering than usual, ‘ What is the good of anything?^ 
If good there is, we shall know it some day; if we are only 
puppets of blind force, why, then we shall have fulfilled our 
2 )urpose, and the end will have come, and there will be no 
more need for asking questions. 

Reine sat upright in her chair, with signs of strong emo- 
tion in her expressive face. 

Ah, Mia,^^ she exclaimed, “ it is all very well for you 


114 


OXCE ACtAIK'. 


to talk; you are fortunate to have arrived at such a con- 
tented frame of mind; but what about those who do rebel/ 
who can not help rebelling, because they feel that they have 
been deluded and cheated? that high ideas, thoughts, 
aspirations, have been given them which they can never 
realize? that they are mocked and disappointed through the 
very instinct which seemed highest and purest? 

My dear child, replied Mrs. Herbert, it is a great 
pity that you ever met Henry Bertram.’’^ 

“ The best friend I ever had or ever shall have,^^ inter- 
rupted Reine, warmly. 

The worst as a ‘philosopher and guide. ^ His effect 
on you morally was as that of a ton vivant, who gives the 
prescription that has cured his gout to a poor man who is 
starving for want of generous food. It would have been 
far better for you, my love, though you wonH agree with 
me, if when you were suffering from disappointment and 
heart- soreness you had come across a priest or a religious 
enthusiast, who could have given you something to prop uj) 

. your faltering faith, instead of taking away what slender 
support was still left and leaving you to fall prone to earth. 

It is far better to know and face the truth, cried 
Heine, impetuously. 

“ But what is truth?^^ asked Mrs. Herbert. “ To my 
way of thinking, utter skeptics like our friend are further 
from it than any one else. Henry is a man, strong men- 
tally and physically; he is perpetually occupied ; his digestion 
is excellent; he is devoid of sentiment, therefore his unbe- 
lief causes him no inconvenience of any kind. He has no 
mental weakness, so a personal God is unnecessary to him; 
he has healthy, honorable instincts which guide his life 
correctly and enable him to be quite comfortable without 
religion. He thought he was doing you a great kindness 
when, seeing your mind rent with doubt, trouble, and dis- 
quietude, he tried to tear up what he considered a miserable 
superstition from before your stumbling feet. It was like 
a strong man taking the crutches from a cripple and say- 
ing, ‘ See how well I walk. Throw away those wretched 
devices, which are really of no use to you, and walk erect 
vand straight as I do."' 

“ But, Mia, you know that you believe in very little 
yourself.''^ 

“ I do not admit that,^^ returned Mrs. Herbert. “As 


OJ^CE AGAIK. 


115 


a matter of fact, I do not know how much or how little 1 
believe. I find it best not to continue interrogating myself 
on the subject. If I am content to bow to the unalterable 
power which I acknowledge, and to accept destiny without 
questioning, it seems to me as though I may perhaps be 
demonstrating the highest form of faith. But, my love, 
when, in autumn, the creepers that twine themselves round 
a tree gradually and naturally unloose their clinging arms 
and drop to earth, it is very different from those whose 
strong tendrils are torn violently away in their full flower- 
ing-time. You want a counteracting influence. You are 
young — well,-’^ as Eeine shook her head, let us say com- 
paratively young, for, though six-andrtwenty seemed very 
old to me when I was seventeen, I now look upon it as the 
most charming and fascinating period of a woman ^s life. 
From twenty-five to thirty-five a woman ought to rule 
every one she chooses to rule — that is, a woman who is 
clever and charming — a woman like you, Eeine. Do you 
know that the best part of your life is before you? Do you 
know that if you were to Jove now, to love a good, kind, 
honorable man — wewoiFtsay anything about his being very 
clever — ^you might still be a happy woman, and win back 
your old beliefs, or, at all events, the best part of them?'^ 

And Mrs. Herbert’s gray eyes grew quite eager in their 
expression, and she looked affectionately at Eeine. 

“Love and I are strangers,” answered Eeine, with a 
sigh, sinking back in her chair. “ I could not love now, 
because I could not believe. Perhaps, dear Mia, I shall get 
to your contented frame of mind some day, and think the 
greatest blessing is to feel that no one is necessary to my 
existence. ” 

“ But, my dear child, I did not feel that at your age, 
and I do not think any one gets to feel it till he has suffered 
great unhappiness and disappointment. The greatest 
source of your unhappiness now is j^our imagination: you 
live in a world of your own and you want to idealize every 
one with whom you come in contatct. Your inclination is 
to believe everything that glitters to be gold, and you take 
it as a personal injury that when the test-acid of experience 
is applied it corrodes. You shut your eyes and idealize, 
and when you open them and look at reality it seems coarse 
and brutal. If you were less critical and more disposed to 
give the rein to your natural warmth of heart and affec- 


IIG 


OKCE AGAIK. 


tion, you would be a mucli happier woman. It is of no use 
at your age and with your nature to try to starve your 
heart. Find some man who is honorable, to be trusted, 
and devoted to you, and douH insist on idealizing him and 
expecting all sorts of impossible tilings of him, but be con- 
tent to love him, and, if you must weigh his demerits occa- 
sionally, put his good qualities in the other scale, and bal- 
ance the two fairly. Women of your sort were not meant 
to live alone: sympathy and companionship are absolute 
necessities. Why, even I, in spite of all I say, with a sad 
little smile, feel at times that to have some one to whom 
I was necessary, whose life was bound up in mine, would 
be a blessing worth paying a tolerably severe penalty for. 
But I do not allow myself to dwell on the idea, and imme- 
diately proceed to thank Heaven that Fortune has no host- 
ages of mine, and to tell myself that to care for any one or 
anything is to widen the joints of one^s armor and let the 
shafts of misfortune enter and pierce one. You see, my 
love, the great difference beetween us is that I am resigned 
to my lot, and probably could not alter it if I wished, 
whereas you are not resigned, and your fate is, humanly 
speaking, in your own hands. 

I wish I had never been bornl^^ said Eeine, in a tone 
of the deepest despondency. 

“ That is what I have wished all my life,^^ replied Mrs. 
Herbert. ‘ ‘ I could never understand the intense love of 
life which some people have who think ‘ only to live such 
a tremendous boon. Of course there have been times when 
I have been exhilarated by air and sunshine and the pres- 
ence of those I loved into being momentarily glad of life; 
but the feeling has been transitory. I dislike the idea of 
dying, because of the mystery and doubt, the fears, mental 
and physical, that surround the act of dying; but to be 
dead always seems desirable to me, and infinitely more de- 
sirable, as the Preacher said, it is never to have been born 
at all. There is only one thing that could reconcile me to 
life, and that would be the knowledge that I had been of 
use in my generation ; that I had made others the better 
for me; that I had prevented a great deal of suffering and 
caused a great deal of happiness. I, like every one else, 
love my own individuality, and should hate to* change it, 
but there is one man, whom I do not know and never met, 
with whom I would gladly change places at any moment. 


OKCE AGAIN-. 


117 


and that is Lord S . When I think of the incalculable 

misery he has* prevented and ameliorated, the amazing 
amount of good he has done, I say to myself, ‘ A life like 
that is worth living, in spite of any amount of -personal 
misfortune, disappointment, or discouragement.^ What 
are the triumphs of the most beautiful woman or the great- 
est statesman compared with these 

“ Mia, dearest,'’^ interposed Reine, with some anxiety, 
you are exciting yourself too much, and will have one of 
your bad nights, I am afraid. 

“ Quite true, my little Mentor. I will be calm.^^ And 
Mrs. Herbert settled herself back among her cushions. 

Let us turn to a less exciting theme. How shall we 
amuse our young men to-morrow?^-’ 

‘‘ I think, Mia, it was very rash of you to ask them. I 
fear they will be bored, and I am quite sure we shall. 

I am not sure of anything of the sort/^ returned lier 
friend. “ I mean to make myself very agreeable, and, as 
you know, I am extremely fond of good-looking young 
men. 

I beg your pardon, dear Mia. I ought to have remem- 
bered that no one could be bored in your pleasant company. 
I was selfishly thinking of myself.^-’ 

“Let us pray for a fine day,^^ said Mrs. Herbert. “We 
will have luncheon first, and then take them for a drive; 
that will get over the afternoon charmingly.’’^ 

“ Arrange everything as you please, my dear.’^ 

“ But you will second me, Reine? you promise not to be 
distraite or disdainful?’^ 

“ Mia, did yoii ever know me to fail in my duty as host- 
ess or part-hostess?” 

“No, I don’t think -I ever did. Now I am going to read 
my book and calm ni}" excited mind,” said Mrs. Herbert; 
“ and I advise you to do the same. It is a good thing to 
exchange one’s own ideas for those of some one else. ” 

But Reine leaned back in her chair, and her thoughts 
wandered off to dream-land; and when she came back from 
that far country there were tears in her eyes. 


118 


ONCE AGAIN. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Mrs. Vernon^ s note was handed to Alwyne in the 
Chesters^ sitting-room, where he and Jack had repaired 
after dinner. Mrs. Chester was with Lilah, who had one 
of her headaches. 

As he read, Alwyne^s face blanched; then he threw the 
note to his cousin. Jack, having read, looked up sympa» 
thetically. 

am awfulfy sorry, he said. ‘‘I suppose there is 
nothing for it but to go. 

Alwyne gave vent to his anger in furious and passionate 
language. He heaped invectives on Mrs. Vernon, and 
raved and stormed about the room like a madman. Men 
are hot frightened by each other^s violence, and Jack, if a 
trifle disgusted by his cousiiPs want of self-control, uttered 
no remonstrance, but waited until he should recover some 
degree of calmness. When Alwyne had partly inveighed 
away his fury, Mrs. Chester came into the room, and, see- 
ing liis handsome face all distraught and perturbed, stopped 
point-blank. 

“ My dear boy,^^ she exclaimed, kindly, ‘‘ what has hap- 
pened?'^ 

Alwyne, nothing loath, poured forth the recital of his 
wrongs. He would have confided them to a perfect stranger 
in his present mood. 

Mrs. Chester was a kind woman, and her nephew's dis- 
tress excited her sympathy at once. She tried to console 
him with the thought that his rejection was only temporary, 
and that perhaps everything woidd come right in the end. 
But Alwyne, like a spoiled cliild, passionately refused to be 
consoled, and declared that he had beeii shamefully used 
and was the victim of a mercenary, designing, heartless 
woman who was only waiting to , sell that poor innocent 
darling, Dulcie, to a higher bidder. He implored his 
aunt's mediation. Would she see Mrs. Vernon and try to 
get the truth out of her? When Mrs. Chester demurred, 
and said she could not possibly interfere in so delicate a 
matter, he grew very angry indeed, swore that every one 
was in league against him, and went out of the room, slam- 
ming the door behind him. 


OXCE AGAI^S”. 


119 


Jack, though he mentally resented Alwyne’s rudeness to 
his mother, felt that this was not the time to take notice of 
it, and only remarked apologetically that he was afraid 
Alwyne was terribly cut up and had lost his head a little. 

‘‘ I am sorry for him, of course,'’^ returned Mrs. Chester, 
who had all along been ill pleased with Alwyne^s attentions 
to Dulcie, and perhaps in her heart of hearts felt that his 
sufferings were not wholly undeserved; but I can quite 
understand that Mrs. Vernon wishes to see and know a 
great deal more of him before trusting her dear child's hap- 
piness to him. I fear Alwyne will make but a very indif- 
ferent husband, and that >any girl who marries him will 
have a great deal to put up with from his violent and un- 
controllable temper." ^ 

“ Dulcie Vernon is a dear, amiable little girl, "said Jack, 
just the sort to suit him, because she would not oppose 
him. Alwyne is a very good fellow if he is not contra- 
dicted. " 

“ I am afraid she is much too good for him," replied 
Mrs. Chester. I think she will make an excellent wife, 
and deserves a better fate than to become the slave of a 
selfish, tyrannical man." 

Mrs. Chester, good and kind as she was, could not help 
showing the soreness she felt, for she had fondly pictured 
amiable Dulcie as the happy and fortunate wife of one of 
the kindest and best men in the world — namely, her own 
dear son. 

My dear mother, don't be too hard on the poor chap!" 
urged Jack. “ He has always been rather spoiled, you 
know, and just now he is very hard hit." 

Presently Jack went to seek his cousin, and found him 
sitting in his room with a gloomy expression of face, having 
passed from the passionate to the melancholy stage. After 
a time he allowed himself to be persuaded to go dut and 
smoke a cigar on the Promenade, and, having talked for 
an hour and a half about his woes and wrongs, he arrived 
at a state of comparative calmness. He would be hanged, 
he said, if he would go right away. No; he would stop in 
the neighborhood, if only to aggravate the old woman and 
to see fair play. Would Jack swear to tell him everything 
that went on, and to talk to Dulcie about him? Jack 
promised the first part, but averred that he could not run 
the risk of breaking up the friendly relations of the party 


120 


OInCE again. 


by doing what Mrs. Vernon would be sure to disapprove. 
Alwyne abused Jack^s selfishness roundly, and declared his 
intention of being even with everybody all round some day. 
Jack ventured to ask whether he would go to lunch with 
Mrs. Herbert on the morrow, but he replied snappishly 
that he had ho wish to meet Mrs. Chandos, who was just 
as mercenary and intriguing as her aunt. No, he should 
go to his sister for the present, and what he would do after- 
ward he had not yet made up his mind. 

When, about half past ten. Jack went back to the sit- 
ting-room, he found his mother there. Her face wore 
rather a perturbed expression, and had a little unusual 
tinge of color. 

“ I thought you would perhaps come in again, my dear, 
she remarked. “ I have something to say to you. I hope,^^ 
looking wistfully at him, “ you will not be vexed. 

An uncomfortable instinct came into Jackh breast that 
he would be vexed, for he knew there was only one subject 
on which his mother could have anything to say that would 
be unpleasant to him. 

He tried to smile in a gay and unconscious manner. 

“ What can you possibly have to say that would vex me, 
mother? Have I not been behaving myself?'’^ 

His mother, contrary to her custom, avoided meeting his 
eyes. 

“ I heard you say,^^ she began, ‘‘ that you were going to 
Cannes to-morrow. I am afraid that you are going to see 
Mrs. Chandos.'’^ 

Jack colored: there was a slight stiffness in his tone. 

‘‘ And if I am, my dear mother,/’ he replied, ‘‘ I do not 
quite understand why you should be afraid. ’ ’ 

‘‘ My dear boy,” cried Mrs. Chester, with visible agita- 
tion, “ I can not bear to pain you, and yet I feel it my duty 
to spe£k. Pray do not resent it : you must know that my 
anxiety only proceeds from love. ” 

Jack made no answer — something in his throat choked 
speech — and Mrs. Chester, after a moment’s pause, went 
on — 

“ I can not help seeing that you have fallen in love with 
Mrs. Chandos, in the last few days you have changed so 
much and have looked so harassed; but to-night, when you 
came from Monte Carlo, you seemed pleased and happy, 
arid were so eager about going to Cannes to-morrow.” 


ONCE AGAIN. 


121 


Well, mother — Jack^s voice trembled a little, but be 
looked very steadfastly in bis motber^s eyes — and if I do 
love Mrs. Obandosr’-’ 

“ It would break my heart if you married ber!''^ cried 
Mrs. Chester, with strong agitation. “You know that I 
have no selfish feeling in the matter — that it is no fear of 
losing my home that makes me speak. I should be too 
glad and thankful to see you marry some nice, good girl: I 
was in hopes you might care for — 

“ Do not speak of anyone else,^^ interrupted Jack, “ but 
tell me what you object to in Mrs. Ohandos.'’^ 

“ I have no doubt she is very clever, very fascinating,'’^ 
poor Mrs. Chester hurried on, “ but oh, my dear boy, she 
is not the wife for you. I must tell you that I have read 
her books — I got them in order to see if what I had heard 
was true — and they have shocked me beyond words. It is 
not only the love -verses, which indeed lean not understand 
any woman writing, but what horrifies me infinitely more 
is the utter skepticism she displays. She must be an atheist 
—the most awful thing I can imagine. Oh, my dear son, 
how could you take such a woman to be mistress of your 
house, mother of your children? Think of a household pre- 
sided over by a woman vvho had no religion, no belief in 
God! think of children brought up no better than the poor 
heathen! It must be a fearful sin against God to marry 
such a woman: you would be calling down a terrible judg- 
ment on your head by doing so!’'’ 

His mother '’s words pierced Jack’s honest heart to the 
core, for some of these ideas which she enunciated with 
such passion and fervor had traversed his own brain, 
although his principles were very much broader and more 
liberal than hers. Still, he had been brought up in a re- 
ligious and somewhat narrow-minded atmosphere, and he 
had the conviction of most men of the better sort, that a 
woman ought to have a certain amount of piety and slioidd 
bring her children up in the love and fear of God. Even 
men who have outgrown what they think of as the “ super- 
stitions necessary to keep the lower classes in order ” still 
think it pleasing and right that women should go to • 
church, say their prayers, and teach their children to do 
the same._ But Jack had not outgrown superstition, and 
had the most conservative ideas of Church as well as State: 


122 


ONCE AGAIN. 


therefore his mother^ s words made due impression upon 
him, though he endeavored to resist their influence. 

“But, mother,'’^ he said, “neither you nor any one 
else can say that Mrs. Ohandos is not as refined, as lady- 
like, as particular in her conversation, as any other woman, 
even if unfortunately she has listened to the arguments of 
unprincipled men and is not perhaps — exactly religious. 
There is not,^^ vehemently, “ the least breath against her. 

“My dear boy,-’ ^ cried his mother, “do not willfully 
shut your eyes to facts! Could any right-minded woman 
have written that poetry?’^ 

“ There is always a certain amount of license permitted 
to people with poetic imaginations,^'’ returned Jack. 

“ Would you like your wife to have written or to write 
such lines?” persisted his mother. “ To my mind, there 
is something very shocking in any expression of passion — 
of — of the passions of the sexes from a woman. ” 

Jack was silent, because to argue upon such a subject 
with oner’s mother, particularly a very religious mother, is 
next to impossible. Mrs. Chester looked down at the floor, 
being also embarrassed by the turn the discussion had 
taken. Jack was the first to speak. 

“ I think, mother,” he said, “ you may make your mind 
perfectly easy. Mrs. Chandos looks upon me and treats 
me very much as she might do an overgrown Eton boy or 
an under-graduate, and would probably laugh in my face if 
I presumed to take the liberty of expressing my feelings for 
her. ” 

At this Mrs. Chester naturally fired up. “I should 
think she would feel very much flattered and honored,” 
cried the excellent lady. “ And,” with an unusual display 
of sarcasm, “ I should be very sorry if you were to propose 
to her on the chance of her refusing you.^^ 

Like every man who loves, it was intolerable to Jack to 
hear his idol spoken of slightingly. He turned away with 
an angry gesture, then, recovering himself, said, in an imi- 
tated voice, “ Forgive me, mother, but I can not discuss 
Mrs. Chandos with you.” 

Mrs. Chester cast an agonized glance at him. 

“ Are you going to break my heart?” she said. 

“ I hope -no one’s heart will be broken,” he answered. 
“ As I told you, mother, there is not the very smallest 
chance of Mrs. Chandos giving me a thought. Good- 


ONCE AGAIN. 


123 


night. He approached, kissed her cheek with perhaps a 
shade less of alfectioii than usual, and retreated hastily, 
whilst the poor lady, fearing to add another word, remained 
overwhelmed with trouble and anxiety. She felt certain 
that Jack would propose to Mrs. Ohaudos the next day, and 
she was equally sure that dangerous woman would accept 
him. 

Jack, as he sought his own room, was in no happy frame 
of mind: he had a painful consciousness that Mrs. Ohandos 
was perhaps not the woman whom in cold blood he would 
have chosen to marry, but his blood was not cold, and he 
knew that if she but held up a finger to him he would fol- 
low wherever it beckoned. 

The next morning the young men started after breakfast 
for Cannes. Jack was to accompany Alvvyne to his sister’s 
villa to spend the intervening time between his arrival and 
the hour at which Mrs. Herbert had invited him to lunch. 

Belle evinced great pleasure at seeing them. Her hus- 
band had left the night before for Algiers to spend a fort- 
night with an old brother-soldier. But when she perceived 
what a very bad frame of mind her brother was in, she 
began to feel doubtful whether his companionship would 
be any great boon, and when he went to look at his room, 
and left her alone with Jack, she hastened to confide her 
doubts to him. 

“ My dear Jack,” she cried, the instant the door closed 
upon him, “ I foresee a dreadful time. Alwyne is in one 
of his most detestable moods, and if I have him alone on 
my hands he will drive me to distraction. I know what he 
is when he is crossed in love. His temper is too dreadful: 
he abuses everybody and everything, or else sits and looks 
like a skeleton at a feast. My dearest boy, do, for pity’s 
sake, come and stay here for a few days. For once, three 
will be much better company than two, and if we can not 
manage him between us we can at all events fall back upon 
each other.” 

A thrill of pleasure shot through Jack’s heart as he 
thought of the delight of being near Mrs. Ohandos; but 
then it occurred to him that he had better wait until after 
his visit before he accepted, in case he should see the ad- 
visability of placing the sea between himself and a hopeless 
passion. 

shall be delighted to come if I can,” he answered; 


124 


OJ^CE AGAIN". 


‘‘ but I must leave it open until to-morrow, if you don^t 
mind.'’^ 

Nonsense!^'’ returned Mrs. Pierpoint, bent on her 
plan: “ telegraph to your servant to bring your things over 
to-ni^ht. I will write to auntie. 

But Jack declared that in any case he must go back to 
Nice that night, though, if possible, he ^vould return in the 
morning. 

Belle, with her sharp woman-’s wit, made, a very shrewd 
guess on what her cousin ^s plans hinged, and devoutly 
prayed that his visit might prove satisfactory. The day 
was not one of*the typical days of the sunny South. It was 
gloomy; there was a bitter wind blowing, and dust-storms 
whirled about in an even more uncomfortable manner than 
they do in the much-abused England. And when Jack 
arrived at the villa there was a dreadful blow in store for 
him. Mrs. Herbert greeted him in the kindest, most cor- 
dial manner. But then she hastened to say — 

‘‘ I have a very sad piece of news for you. Poor dear 
Peine has a frightful headache and is unable to make her 
appearance; but I shall do my very best to entertain you, 
and you must try to put up with my company. 

Jack felt an awful sinking at his heart: he could not even 
muster up courage enough to make the attempt to look 
cheerful or to say something civil. He was oppressed by 
the idea that the headache was only a woman^s excuse, and 
that it was Mrs. Chandos^s way of intimating to him that 
his society was unwelcome to her. 

Mrs. Herbert divined his thought in -an instant, but had 
too much tact to let him see that she did so. 

“It is only a pleasure deferred, she said, brightly. 
“ In a day or two you must come over again, if you will, 
and the original programme shall be carried out.” 

During luncheon Mrs. Herbert was so bright and cheery 
that Jack^s drooping spirits began to revive. She seemed 
to take it as a matter of course that they were to see a good 
deal of him at the villa, and he found courage to tell her 
that Mrs. Pierpoint wished him to spend a few days with 
her. 

“ I am so glad,” Mrs. Herbert said. “ I hope you will, 
and that we shall see you very often. We are two lonely 
women, and we pretend to like solitude and to be unsocia- 
ble, but I really believe that we are very glad now and then 


OiirCE AGAIE-. 


125 


to be invaded cheerful people from the outer world. It 
may be all very well for an elderly invalid like myself/'’ she 
added, smiling, ‘‘ but it is not right for a charming young 
woman like Reine. 

J ack, Avhose spirits were reviving, wished politely to pro- 
test against her reference to herseK, but she made a little 
gesture with her hand. 

I have no youth and no illusions left,^^ she said, cheer- 
fully. Please take me at my own estimate, and do not 
think it necessary to make civil little disclaimers when I 
refer to my age. You see, it gives a woman so much more 
freedom and license when it is once understood that she 
has no longer any youthful aspirations and is to be treated 
as a friendly and benevolent godmother. I have several 
godsons and goddaughters, and am always ready to add to 
their number. 

This was a kind way of intimating to Jack that she took 
a friendly interest in him; and he recognized the intention, 
and began to think his hostess a very delightful person. 

‘MVe had proposed,^'’ she said, when luncheon was over, 
“ to take you for a drive this afternoon; but I dare not 
venture out on such a day: so we will go into the salon and 
have our coffee and chat, and as soon as you begin to get 
bored you shall make any pretext you like, or none *at all, 
and run away. 

And now/^ said Mrs. Herbert, when they were installed 
by the fire in two comfortable chairs, and the servant who 
brought the coffee had departed, “ we can talk at our ease. 
I have a theory that it is wrong to make personal remarks 
before servants; and yet it is so much more interesting to 
talk about people than things. 

Then she drew him on to speak about his cousins, his 
little invalid sister, his own interests and pursuits, then, 
very gradually, to the subject of Reine. She adroitly 
ignored his feelings for her friend, and spoke of her as 
though she wished to call his attention to the charms of a 
person whom he did not perhaps sufficiently appreciate. 
Jack listened with eagerness, with a glowing heart: he be- 
gan to feel as if he had known Mrs. Herbert all his life, in- 
stead of having only met her yesterday for the first time. 

There is no one,^^ Mrs. Herbert said, “ who has been 
more misunderstood than Reine. It is perhaps her own 
fault a little; and yet, though I do not think she willingly 


126 


OXCE AGAIN. 


gives false impressions, she does not try to avoid doing so, 
or to correct them when once they are made. The real 
Heine is the most kind-hearted, lovable, affectionate creat- 
ure in the world. 

“ I am sure of it,^^ exclaimed Jack, with a warmth which 
would have betrayed him even if his feelings had been a 
secret until now. 

‘‘ Perhaps, Mrs. Herbert continued, reflectively, with- 
out giving any sign of having noticed his enthusiasm, per- 
haps you do not know by experience how wrong things are 
apt to go in this world, and that many people, women 
especially, are doomed to contend with the very trials which 
are most painful to them and cause them the greatest suffer- 
ing. jSTow, if Reine, with her impulsive nature, had mar- 
ried a man who was at all suited to her, she might have 
been one of the happiest women in the world; and certain- 
ly no woman could have been better calculated to make a 
man happy. 

Jack devoured Mrs. Herbert with his eyes, as though im- 
ploring further confidences. 

She had every intention of confiding in him, for she had 
made up her mind about him and had taken a very shrewd 
diagnosis of his character. He was true; he was to be 
trusted; he was devoted to Reine, and he was not in the 
very least likely to repeat what she said. Not that she in- 
tended to make any indiscreet revelations to him: there 
was nothing in Heine’s life that a man who loved her would 
not love her the better for hearing — nothing but what 
would increase the chivalrous feeling of a good man and 
intensify his desire to love and to jirotect her. Mrs. Her- 
bert made no apology for confiding in Jack, but now rather 
assumed the air and manner of one who talks to a common 
friend of some person whom both love. Siie was an ex- 
cellent talker, and could tell a story with a smoothness and 
consecutiveness which few people are gifted with. Proba- 
bly if Reine had been aware that her friend was beguiling 
Sir Jolin Chester with her biography she would have been 
very angry; but the blessing that we ought to be most 
thankful for in this life — ignorance of what is said of us in 
our absence — was vouchsafed to her, and, littlej reaming 
of the deeply interesting tete-a-tete that was going on down- 
stairs, she was hoping that poor dear Mia was not being too 
d.readfully bored. 


OKCE AGAIK. 


127 


Poor dear Mia, however, was very far from being bored. 
She bad taken an immense fancy to Jack; she had made 
np her mind that he was the very man to make Eeine 
happy, and she already intended to assist him by every 
means in her power, being perfectly aware at the same time 
that she would have to be very clever and canning to con- 
ceal her designs from that acute lady. As for Jack, I leave 
the reader to conjecture what his feelings were as he list- 
ened to and talked of the one subject that engrossed his 
soul. 


CHAPTER XV. 

‘‘ If her mother had been alive, Eeine would never have 
married that wretch, said Mrs. Herbert, with vindictive 
energy. ‘‘ The worst misfortune that ever happened to 
the poor dear child was the death of Mrs. Chandos. She 
was a charming woman, and she and Eeine were devoted to 
each other. 

“ Mrs. Chandos, I suppose, was Mrs. Vernon^s sister?’^ 
ventured Jack. 

‘‘ Yes; but I do not think they were at all alike. I knew 
Mrs. Chandos well, but. my acquaintance with Mrs. Vernon 
is only slight. She seems a thorough woman of the world, 
and a much more decided person than her sister, who w^as 
very gentle, very yielding, easily trampled on. From what 
I have seen of Mrs. Vernon,'’^ smiling, ‘‘ 1 do not think it 
would be easy to trample on her. 

‘‘No indeed,-’^ smiled Jack, in response. 

“When a woman is soft and gentle,^^ observed Mrs. 
Herbert, “a man — that is, a husband — frequently takes 
the opportunity of oppressing her. ^ ' 

“ Eeally!^^ uttered Jack. “ I^m afraid I donT know 
much about these things. 

“ On the other hand,^^ continued Mrs. Herbert, lightly, 
“ if the husband is weak aiid easy-going, he is tolerably 
sure to be ruled with a high hand by his wife.'’^ 

“ I suppose, remarked Jack, doubtfully, “ that oppo- 
site natures were intended to come together.'’^ 

“ To the great detriment of the next generation,^ ^ said 
Mrs. Herbert. “ Eeine and I have a theory that the cause 
of most of our mental suffering is the opposing influences 
of .the t>vo separate natures and wills that we inherit from 


128 


ONCE AGAIN. 


our two parents struggling within us. However/^ with a 
light laugh, seeking Jack^s look of perplexity, ‘‘I am not 

f oing to bore you with our theories (we have a good many 
etweeii us); at all events, not now. They shall be kept 
for another day. I did not like Colonel Chandos at all. 
He could, and did, make himself very agreeable in society, 
but was extremely despotic, arrogant, and ill-tempered at 
home. Reine inherited something of his fiery spirit as well 
as her mother’s kind heart and sweet nature, and she re- 
sented his behavior, and would have shown her resentment 
but for her mother’s entreaties. The two were all in all to 
each other, and then, as misfortune would have it, Mrs. 
Chandos died from the effects of an accident when Reine 
was just seventeen, and, poor dear child! her heart was all 
but broken. For some months she stayed with me, then 
she went to her aunt, Mrs. Vernon, and finally it was de- 
cided that she was to return to her father to preside over 
his house. This did not answer particularly well: he was 
tyrannical and disagreeable, and she resented his treatment 
of her, and now there was no mother to stand between 
them. It was just at the time when she felt most un- 
hapjjy and unsettled at home that she met Captain Bernard, 
who fell desperately in love with her. I believe — I hope I 
do not do him injustice — that Colonel Chandos knew that 
he had led anything but a reputable life, and that he 
drank: but he was rich and heir- presumptive to a barony, 
so the colonel, being rather anxious to break up his estab- 
Ifshment and enjoy more freedom for himself, put no 
obstacle in the way. Reine was always imaginative and 
romantically inclined, poor dear child, so she proceeded to 
• idealize her lover, and to throw a halo of her own creating 
round him, and, as he was very careful to keep, his bad 
habits in the background, she imagined him a sort of hero, 
and looked forward to the happiness that only exists in 
story-books. ” 

Jack gazed earnestly at his companion. 

‘‘You seem to take a very bad view of life,” he said. 
“ Ho you really think there is no happiness in it?” 

“ I think there is plenty of happiness for people with 
good health and good digestions,” answered Mrs. Herbert, 
with something between a smile and a sigh. “ I think 
there is physical happiness and enjoyment, but that is for 
those who do not look much beyond the physical; but for 


OKCE AGAIX. 


120 


people troubled with great ideas and imaginations I believe 
there is a good deal more misery than happiness. Young 
ladies who write poetry and look’ at the stars and dream of 
knights and heroes are apt to suffer very rude revulsions of 
feeling when they come in contact with the hard and prosaic 
realities of life. 

said Jack, with some warmth, ‘‘every man 
Joes not turn out a drunken blackguard; and if a beauti- 
ful girl married a — a decently good sort of fellow who was 
devoted to her, even if he did not come up to her imagina- 
tion, I suppose there might be a chance of his making her 
tolerably happy. ^ ^ 

“ Of course there is every chance, Mrs. Herbert an- 
swered. “ If Reine had married some nice, kind man who 
loved her, I believe she would have been a comparatively 
happy woman. She would have come down from the skies 
and found the earth quite habitable. I feel sure that under 
some circumstances she might still be happy. I told her 
so only last night. 

“ And what did she sayr^^ asked Jack, eagerly. 

“ She pooh-poohed the idea, of course. But I do not de- 
spair.-’^ 

Jack looked ardently at Mrs. Herbert as though he were 
dying to say something, but she hurried on with her story: 

“ Well, Reine married, and for a month everything went 
smoothly. Captain Bernard put a patent-leather boot on 
his cloven foot until unfortunately he met an old boon 
companion whom he invited to dinner. When they joined 
Reine in the drawing-room, she was painfully impressed by 
something in her husband '’s demeanor, and retired early. 
The pair adjourned down-stairs, and Captain Bernard, 
when he again joined his wife, was hopelessly drunk. 
There was a scene next morning: she threatened to leave 
him: he promised reformation; but after that his lapses 
from sobriety became frequent. Reine fled to her father, 
who declined to receive her, and told her bluntly that she 
must make the best of things, and she had no choice but 
to return to her wretched home for a time. Her love had 
turned to loathing and contempt; her husband, incensed by 
her coldness and disgust, began to hate her; he left her and 
consorted openly with disreputable j^eople, and one night 
he threw a decanter at her which struck her head and caused 
Jier nearly to bleed to death. A doctor was sent for: the 


130 


OXCE AGAll^. 


butler and footmen saw her fainting on the floor: there 
was no lack of evidence of his cruelty. 

Jack^s face was rigid; his teeth were clinched. Mrs. 
Herbert purposely avoided looking at him. 

I was abroad at the time. She went to Mrs. Vernon 
when she was able to be moved, and as soon as possible a 
divorce was obtained. When she joined me some months 
later in Italy, I think I never saw so heart-broken a woman. 
She would not go anywhere in public nor see any one: she 
had a morbid idea that she was irretrievably disgraced. 
She was subject to the most violent outbursts of despair 
and grief; her nerves were shattered, and 1 was at my wits' 
end to know what to do with her. It was then that — un- 
fortunately, as I can not help thinking — slid met Henry 
Bertram. He took an immense interest in and gained an 
enormous influence over her. She had been religiously 
brought up by her mother, and her mind was then tor- 
mented by the impossibility of reconciling omnipotence and 
universal benevolence in the Divine Being. Suffering had 
weakened her faith, and she revolted from what she con- 
sidered the intolerable injustice of human life and the 
cruelty of unmerited suffering. Henry Bertram is a robust 
unbeliever, perfectly happy without a faith or creed of any 
kind except the creed of personal probity and honor, and 
he, not in the least comprehending the difference of fiber 
between his strong resolute nature and the delicate, nerv- 
ous, imaginative, dependent organization of a woman, or 
rather a girl like Berne, thought the kindest thing he could 
do for her was to convince her that the religion in which 
she had been brouglit uji was a sham and a delusion, and 
that as soon as she cast off its shackles and ceased to tor- 
ment herself with vain speculations, accepted realities and 
made the best of life from his pagan point of view, she 
would be an infinitely happier, more contented woman. 
And, perhaps, if he could have changed her life to one full 
of interests like his own and closed her brain to thought, 
his remedy might have answered, instead of depriving her 
of what little comfort she had and taking away her sole 
mainstay. ^ ^ 

He must be a thundering blackguard,^ ^ uttered Jack, 
between his teeth. 

My dear Sir John, answered Mrs. Herbert, looking 
up at him with a smile, “ you could not have applied more 


ONCE AGAIN. 


i: 3 i 


mijust or untrue epithets to Mr. Bertram. I know that in 
the tract-books of one's youth an unbeliever was always 
painted in appallingly black hues; he was bound to 1)0 a 
drunkard, a murderer, a villain of the deepest dye; and it 
is almost shocking to one's pet theories to know that so 
many atheists, agnostics, or whatever they are called, are 
really excellent people. Henry Bertram is the soul of 
honor; he is the kindest, the most benevolent creature in 
the world; he has discovered, he .savs, that good is good 
for its own sake; that it is far better to be upright and 
just from conviction and inclination than from fear of con- 
sequences; that whether there be a future or not (about 
which he gives no opinion, though he sees no probability 
of it nor has any desire for it), it must make the greatest 
difference in this life both to ourselves and our neighbors 
whether we act rightly, kindly, unselfishly; that it is irra- 
tional to be always thinking about what is to happen in an- 
other world, instead of minding our business and doing 
our best in this, which is at all events a certainty as long 
as it lasts." 

Jack felt a keen sense of disappointment as he listened 
to this description of the man whom it had pleased him to 
think of as the evil genius of Mrs. Ohandos. 

He was not inclined to take him at Mrs. Herbert's esti- 
mate, she, no doubt, being biased by a personal partiality; 
for Jack still held the view which his interlocutor smilingly 
derided, that a man who believed in nothing must be a 
scoundrel and a villain. He felt that he would rather not 
discuss Bertram: so he asked, after a moment's pause, what 
had become of Captain Bernard. 

“ He is drinking himself to death,", returned Mrs. Her- 
bert, but, having a fine constitution, he takes a considera- 
ble time about it. I shall be glad," she continued, calm- 
ly, ‘‘ when he is dead, for then I think perhaps Heine 
might be induced to marry. I fanhy she would hardly con- 
sider it right or feel quite comfortable about it as long as 
he lives. " 

Jack had been nerving himself to ask a question. Mrs. 
Herbert's manner was so kind and confidential that it em- 
boldened him to commit what he strongly suspected was an 
indiscretion, if not an impertinence. He turned uneasily 
in his chair, the color deepened in his cheek, and then he 
said, with an effort, and stammering a little — 


132 


OKCE AGAIK. 


“ Would it be taking a very great liberty if I asked you 
a question? If you think it one, please don^t answer mo 
or~or take any notice of it. But — but Mrs. Chandos^s 
poetry would make me think that she had — had cared very 
much about somebody — 

“ It does seem very wonderful to think, answered Mrs. 
Herbert, smihng, “ that all those very pretty and rather — 
well, if I must say it — ardent verses were inspired by 
idealization of a drunken brute like her husband, for I 
assure you as a positive fact that Keine has never shown 
any sign of caring for any one else. She has a very poetic 
and imaginative nature, and you know it is quite possible 
for minds like hers to imagine and describe. all sorts of 
things they have not experienced. I have often been quite 
amused to hear Heine discussed by people who knew noth- 
ing of her and simply iudged her from her verses: some- 
times, however, I have been very angry, for the most un- 
just and false judgments have been formed of her. Be- 
cause she writes of love, the world pictures her surrounded 
by lovers: they credit her with being her own heroine and 
bestowing on various favored lovers the warmth of feeling 
which she describes. There is not in this world a more 
innocent or virtuous woman than Heine, and no one has 
been more surprised than I have at the passionate utter- 
ances which she has occasionally given forth in verse. I 
am tempted sometimes to wish she had never written a line; 
for, though it has given her a considerable reputation and 
made her much sought after, I think it has laid her open to 
very grave misinterpretation.'’^ 

A load seemed to be lifted from J ack’s heart. 

“ I can quite imagine what you say to be the case,^^ he 
said, warmly; “ but yet it is very natural to think that 
when people write about a subject they are expressing their 
own feelings and — ^^nd experiences. ” 

“ That is where ordii/ary mortals make such tremendous 
mistakes. They can not allow for the power of imagina- 
tion. I can, for I also am imaginative. If I were to shut 
my eyes and you were to describe to me something that I 
had never seen or heard of, it would all be as plain to my 
mind^s eye as if I had witnessed it myself. And any one 
who, like Heine, is at the same time strongly imaginative 
and sympathetic, lives in a world of his own, and sees 
visions and dreams so strangely like realities that com- 


ON-CE AGAIX. 1,3:5 

monplace people would decline to believe that the seer had 
not taken actual part in them. 

Jack was emboldened by Mrs. Herbert’s frankness to say 
something of a still more leading nature. 

‘‘ It is so awfully kind of you to treat me and to talk to 
me in the way you have done/’ he said, looking eagerly and 
gratefully at her. “I— I dare say you have seen how 
much I — I admire Mrs. Chandos. I have never met any 
one who, I think, could hold a candle to her. Might I ask 
you a question?” imploringly. 

‘‘A dozen,” replied Mrs. Herbert, kindly. 

It was a minute or two before Jack could muster resolu- 
tion to drag out his next question. 

“ Do I bore Mrs. Chandos? Is that why she has kept 
out of the way to-day?” 

Mrs. Herbert smiled reassuringly. 

‘‘ No, indeed,” she answered. “ I give you my word^ 
her headache' is a sad reality. She is suffering torments. 
Why, last night she and I were making all sorts of plans 
for your entertainment to-day.” 

Again Jack felt a load taken from his heart. 

“ Of course,” he said, humbly, “’I know it is great pre- 
sumption on my part to think of her at all. I can not hope 
to interest her in the very least; but — ” 

' He looked down at the floor, and left his sentence un- 
finished. 

Mrs. Herbert took pity upon him and gave him a little 
gentle encouragement. 

‘‘ It is always a mistake,” she said, smiling, “ for a man 
to undervalue himself. Do not be too humble: the woman 
whom you wish to win never thinks any the more favorably 
of you for it. You should be friendly and pleasant, and 
endeavor to amuse her. If you look melancholy, as men 
not sure of their position frequently do, you will bore her, 
and that will be fatal. I take quite a friendly interest in 
you, and, if I can help you, I will. But you must be 
guided by me. ” 

Jack made all sorts of protestations of gratitude. In the 
midst of them the door opened, and Mrs. Chandos, look- 
ing pale and languid, but, as Jack thought, more beautiful 
than ever, came in. 

‘‘ Why, my love,” cried Mrs. Herbert, rising to meet 


134 : 


ONCE AGAIN. 


lier, this is an agreeable surprise. You are better, I am 
sure, or you would not be here. 

“ Yes,^’ answered Eeine, ‘‘I am much better. And 
she greeted Jack kindly. 

Mrs. Herbert insisted on installing her on the sofa and 
making all sorts of .little arrangements for her comfort, 
in which she called on Jack to assist her. 

He felt as though sunshine had suddenly broken through 
the gray afternoon, and his face beamed with pleasure. It 
was so delightful to know that she had not purposely 
avoided him — nay, that she had made an effort to come 
down and see him. It was as well, poor fellow, that he did 
not know the real nature of the effort. Heine had thought 
her friend would be so bored by his prolonged visit that she 
had come to relieve her from her task of entertaining him. 
When Mrs. Herbert made some pretext to leave the room 
Eeine did not attempt to hinder her, thinking she had well 
earned this respite. 

But she was agreeably surprised presently to find that 
Sir John was not boring her. He told her about Alwyne^s 
banishment and despair, and Eeine grew so interested that 
she almost forgot her. headache. Then she drew him on to 
talk of his sister and his own pursuits, and Jack, giving 
heed to Mrs. Herbert’s recent advice, did his utmost to 
amuse and interest her. When that discreet lady returnecl, 
thinking it wiser not to give Eeine time to get weary, she 
found them on excellent terms. She rung for tea, and the 
three chatted away until Jack, with deep reluctance, and 
only yielding to a strong sense of the impropriety of inflict- 
ing his company any longer on his hostesses, rose to take 
leave. He was coming the next day, he told them, to stay 
with Mrs. Pierpoint, and both pressed him very cordially 
to come again soon. 

How light his heart was as he left the villa! how different 
his sensations from those he had suffered after his last 
leave-taking there! 

‘‘ My dear Jack,” cried Belle, as he entered his cousin’s 
drawing-room, “ do, for heaven’s sake, tell me that you 
have made up your mind to stop with me for a few days! 
If you don’t I shall be in a lunatic asylum soon, and Al- 
wyne will probably have committed suicide. I never knew 
him take anything so badly; and that is saying a great 


OKCE AGAIN. 135 

deal. I suppose he really is in love this time. Tell me, 
what extraordinaij fascination is there about this girl?^^ 

“ Only the fascination that every woman has for the man 
who is in love with her, my dear, as far as I know. She 
has none for me, except that she is a nice, pretty, ladylike 
girl. Yes, I shall be very glad to come and help you en- 
tertain him, poor chap! But I donT think it will be a very 
easy task. 

Alwyne was at that moment cogitating in his own room. 
His one idea was how he was going to communicate with 
Dulcie and to see her without her mother^s knowledge. If 
Jack were worth a straw, he reflected, angrily, he could so 
easily help him; it was all very fine to talk about honor 
where your own feelings were not interested; but never 
mind! he would do without him. And Alwyne mused and 
mused until he had concocted a plan for circumventing 
Mrs. Vernon that he hoped would be quite successful. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The four ladies, left at Nice without their cavaliers, were 
all more or less depressed and out of sorts. 

Dulcie was wretched at having lost her handsome and 
devoted admirer, Mrs. Vernon was perplexed and worried 
beyond measure at the new complication, Mrs. Chester was 
miserable at the thought of her dear son being exposed to 
the dangerous seductions of Mrs. Chandos, and Lilah was 
irritable and vexed at the absence of her brother. The 
first three exerted becoming efforts to conceal their feel- 
ings, but Lilah made no such attempts, her ill health being 
always a sufficient excuse when she chose to be cross and 
peevish. 

Dulcie was beginning to conceive a sullen dislike to j)oor 
Noel and to consider that he had shamefully entrapped and 
deceived her. The prospect of going out to India as the 
wife of a poor soldier no longer had any charms for her; 
indeed, she thought it detestable, now that she would have 
had the opportunity, but for her unfortunate marriage, of 
being a rich and considered woman in her own country. 
And Alwyne^s imperious, determined nature was eminently 
adapted to control her weak and wavering one and to im- 
press her with respect and admiration. She blamed every- 


0:NX’E AGAIis. 


loo 

thing and eveiy one but herself for the inisfortime which 
had befallen her; she even said to herself that it was her 
mother^s fault for preventing her from seeing Noel and by 
so doing making her think ten tunes more of him than she 
would otherwise have done. 

It was the afternoon following Alwyne^s departure when 
one of the chambermaids tapped at her door, and, with a 
mysterious air, handed her a note which she said she had 
been bidden to deliver to mademoiselle when she was alone. 

Dulcie blushed vividly as she took the envelope from the 
woman ^s hand, though she tried to assume a careless and 
natural manner. She waited until she was alone, and then, 
with a beating heart, broke the seal. It was, as she 
guessed, from Alwyne, and was couched in the most pas- 
sionate and despairing terms. He wrote of his unbearable 
misery, the absolute impossibility of enduring life under 
such intolerable circumstances, and he conjui'ed her to 
grant him a meeting. He suggested that the following- 
day she should feign a headache, and declare herself too ill 
to go down to dinner, and then, when her mother was out 
of the way, steal out and meet him in the garden. 

Dulcie^s mind was a prey to all sorts of conflicting feel- 
ings — her desire to see Alwyne, the recollection that in 
doing so she was committing almost a crime, fear, excite- 
ment, doubt; her brain whirled as these conflicting emo- 
tions chased each other through it. If she could only have 
had some one to help or advisO her! but she was afraid to 
trust Morton now', and, of all things, shrunk from letting 
the maid know that the hated marriage w^as valid. Biit 
the desire to see Alwyne again was paramount, and tri- 
umj)hed even over her fears, and she presently indited a 
few lines to him, saying that she would try to meet him on 
the morrow^ as he wished, but that it would be only to say 
‘‘ good-bye and must be for the last time. 

She confided the letter to the chambermaid, and then 
joined her mother in the sitting-room with a serene and 
unconscious face. Her affair wdth Noel having given her 
considerable training in deceit, it now became tolerably easy 
to her, and she was not visited by any very severe qualms 
of remorse, as a girl of strong feelings might have been. 
She did not mean any harm; on the contrary, she meant 
to tell him that he must not wuite to her or try to see her 
at present. If he W'as so miserable about her it W'as oidy 


ONCE AGAIN. 


137 


fair just to see him and bestow what consolation she could 
upon him. Besides this, there was a strong secret desire 
in her heart not to lose him; even without acknowledging 
it to herself, she clung to the hope that something — she 
did not say death— might free her from her hated bond. 
And then she might marry Alwyne, the most delightful 
fate imaginable, and she would get away from her mother, 
whom she no longer loved, but merely dreaded. 

When Mrs. Vernon saw her daughter so apparently 
cheerful and unconcerned, she did not suspect her of any 
fresh duplicity, but only reflected wonderingly on her ex- 
traordinary insensibility. Strong-willed and resolute peo- 
ple are unsuspicious, as a rule. They attack their desires 
in a straightforward manner, and try to carry them by a 
coui) de main. If they are disappointed and thwarted, 
they show their feelings openly, rarely attempting disguise; 
and they are exceedingly prone to take it for granted that 
other people’s looks and actions are equally natural and 
spontaneous. Having dealt a crushing blow on Dulcie by 
assuring her of the validity of her marriage, she was not in 
the least prepared for the young lady’s continuing to en- 
courage Mr. Temifle’s suit. 

While despising Dulcie in her heart for the weakness, 
poverty, insensibility of her nature, she still thought ;t mat- 
ter for congratulation that the girl had so litlle feeling. 

The next day after luncheon Dulcie complained of head- 
ache. During their afternoon drive she assumed a languid 
air, and on returning home went at once to lie down. Slie 
made Morton darken the room; she submitted to the opera- 
tion of having her brow bathed with eau-de- Cologne and 
water; she even went so far as to take the remedies which 
her mother prescribed. And, as the dinner-hour ap- 
proached, she asked, in a faint voice, to be left alone to 
sleep. She refused to allow Morton to sit in the room with 
hei*, and begged that she might not be disturbed until she 
rang her bell, when the chambermaid would tell Morton. 

It was a great relief to Dulcie When she was left alone, 
for she was in such a fever of excitement and terror at the 
bold action she plotted that it was only by an extraordinary 
exertion of self-command that she remained motionless in 
her recumbent position. The instant she was alone she 
started up, locked the door, dressed herself in her darkest 
clothes, looked out the thickest veil she possessed, and 


OXCE AGAIN. 


lOS 

waited with what 2)atieiice she might until she heard the 
summons to the taUe-dHiote. She delayed another ten 
minutes to give every one time to assemble in the dining- 
room; then, tying on her veil and another over it, she 
peeped cautiously from her door, and, having assured her- 
self that there was no one about, hurried along the corridor, 
descended a side staircase, and made her way out of the 
house by a back door. In two minutes more she and Al- 
wyne were together — he jiouring out all sorts of passionate 
exclamations of love, she listening, half enchanted, liaK 
terrified. It was in vain she tried to tell him that she had 
only come to wish him good-bye for the last time; that he 
must not try to see her or wu’ite to her any more for the 
jn-esent; his vehemence bore down all her remonstrances 
and protestations as the current bears a straw on its bosom. 
He could not live without her; he would shoot himself if 
this sort of thing went on; if she would only trust to him 
and do as he told her, he w^ould arrange their meetings and 
correspondence, and they would between them manage to 
outwit her mother. He urged her jiassionately over and 
over again to tell him what the obstacle to their love was, 
and pressed ui)on her the suggestion that there was some 
other suitor whom her mother thought more eligible. 
Hulcie found it the easier plan to allow him to assume that 
this suspicion was correct. 

Time sped on with that incredible swiftness which he 
only employs during the meetings of lovers, and Dulcie, 
who in her calculations had arranged that she must not be 
absent from the hotel more than twenty minutes, found to 
her horror, when she looked at her watch, that nearly forty 
had elapsed. She was terrified; the tabU-cVlwte would be 
over ; she would meet some of the hotel guests in the pass- 
ages or on the stairs, and they would infallibly recognize 
her. What should she do? She tore herself from Alwyne^s 
embrace and fled back to the hotel, crept cautiously in at 
the door, got uj^-stairs without meeting any one except a 
waiter and a chambermaid, turned into her own corridor 
with a sensation of intense relief, o^iened her door, and — 
found herself face to face with her mother. 

Tor a full minute — an awful minute, pregnant with hor- 
ror — not a word was uttered by either. Hulcie felt she was 
lost. Mrs. Vernon had realized the situation and decided 
u2)on action. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


139 


When she spoke there was a terrible calmness in her 
voice. 

‘‘ You have been to meet Mr. Temple?^^ 

No response from Dulcie. 

** Knowing that you are the wife of another man. Per- 
haps you are contemplating an elopement with him. The 
punishment for bigamy is imprisonment.'’^ 

Dulcie stood trembling like a leaf, looking away from 
her mother. Mrs. Vernon was in a state of intense ex- 
asperation, but her tone was cold and incisive. 

‘‘ I see,^^ she continued, that if you remain with me 
you will end by bringing some terrible disgrace upon me. 
I have no longer any control over you, and deceit is a thing 
with wdiich I can not pretend to cope. I now look upon 
the accident which happened to your husband on your wed- 
ding-day as a very great misfortune for me. But for that, 
I should be relieved of all responsibility about you, and you 
would probably be on your way to India. I intend to start 
for England the day after to-morrow, and the moment that 
your husband is well enough to undertake the care of you, 
I shall hand you over to him. Of two evils one must choose 
the least, and though your extraordinary story may give 
rise to some gossip, still I feel it is better to let the world 
talk about that than about some still more disgraceful situ- 
ation into which you may possibly get yourself. For my 
own part, I shall endeavor to forget the past, and the. affec- 
tion and interest which I have always felt for you; indeed, 
I shall be thankful to be relieved from the frightful respon- 
sibility of looking after a girl who has neither self-respect 
nor, apparently, any sense of right and wrong. If, be- 
tween this time and the day you go to your husband, I find 
you holding correspondence of any kind with Mr. Temple, 
I shall write and tell him the truth. 

Mrs. Vernon's words had their full effect. Dulcie was 
terrified nearly to death. She sobbed and cried, implored 
and entreated, promised anything in the world if only her 
mother would not forsake her and give her up to Noel. 
For now the weak girl was persuaded that all her heart was 
given to Alwyne, and the thought of Noel was hateful to 
her. 

The sight of her distress did not touch one chord of pity 
in her mother's heart; she felt nothing but boundless con- 
tempt for her. She was satisfied with the excellent result 


140 


OiSXE A GAIK’. 


of her threats, about which she was . half in earnest. . She 
argued seriously to herself that Dulcie^s extraordinary weak- 
ness and apparent obliviousness to right and wrong might 
lead her into some very serious predicament, and she told 
herself, besides, that, as the girl was really married to 
Noel, and the marriage could not be undone, the only 
thing was to make the best of it, and let it be announced 
to the world as soon as possible. Her own ambition on 
Hulcie’s behalf was crushed forever; all she could now hope 
was to make her own life as pleasant and agreeable as pos- 
sible. Dulcie in India would be very much like Dulcie 
dead; the affection which she had entertained for her only 
child had dwindled away to nothing; indeed, the girFs 
companionship had becOnie irksome and the responsibility 
for her caprices harassing in the extreme. 

If, three months earlier, any one had told her that her 
feeling for her daughter could undergo such a change, she 
would not have believed it; but Dulcie ^s behavior had 
caused her such poignant disappointment and annoyance 
that, not having the blind mother’s love which no ill con- 
duct on the part of a child can alienate, she had grown to 
look upon her with a degree of coldness, anger, and dis- 
trust which swamped all warmer feeling. 

Dulcie’s tears and distress did not move her; she took a 
revengeful pleasure in terrifying her and in seeing her 
suffer. Why should she be sorry for a girl who had been 
absolutely indifferent to her feelings? 

You have brought all this on yourself,” she said, un- 
pi tyingly, ‘‘ and must take the consequences. I can not 
help you; you have put yourself beyond the power of any 
one to hep you. I have brought you up with the utmost 
care; you have been guarded and sliielded from harm, you 
have never been left to the care of strangers or hirelings, 
never had an anxiety or trouble; and yet the very first time 
when, for your own sake, I thwart you — when, for your 
own sake (for how can it personally affect me whether you 
are comfortable or uncomfortable, happy or unhappy:), I 
refuse to allow you to see more of a penniless man without 
recommendation of any sort — ^you at once fiy to deceit, and, 
with the most extraordinary folly and obstinacy, take a step 
which is to ruin your whole future. You thought you were 
in love with Mr. Trevor, and here, you see, less than two 
months after you have married him and by doing so cut 


Om’E AC4ATX. 


lU 


yourself off from all other men, you fall in love again, and 
this time with a man whom I would gladly have received 
and welcomed, and wlio would have been an excellent 
match/^ 

Dulcie buried her face in her hands in an agony of self- 
abasement and misery. Each word of her mother^s cut 
her to the heart. 

“Even now, proceeded Mrs. Vernon, with unrelaxed 
severity, “ I do not think you realize your position. Are 
you aware that in listening to Mr. Templets professions 
of love, and perhaps permitting his embraces (for I have 
so little opinion of you that I think even this quite j^ossi- 
ble), you are committing a positive crime? If your hus- 
band ever hears of this, what do you suppose he will think 
of it? No doubt he imagines you to be devoted to him; 
and how would he like to know that, when he is lying at 
fleath^s door, you are stealing out at night to meet another 
man?’^ 

By this time Dulcie was in hysterics, and her mother 
thought it expedient to discontinue the infliction of the 
moral kourbash. She proceeded to leave the room, saying, 
somewhat unfeelingly: — 

“ You had better control yourself, or you will have peo- 
ple coming to see what is the matter. I shall return when 
you are more composed, and will then tell you my plans. 

Mrs. Vernon went back to the sitting-room a prey to 
feelings of the most unpleasant kind. Until the last day 
or two, when Alwyne^s suit had taken her so disagreeably 
by surprise, she had really been enjoying the life at Nice 
wlien she could get away from the dreadful thought of 
Dulcie’s marriage. The sunshine and beautiful scenery, 
the comjianionship of her old friend Mrs. Chester, and of 
other pleasant acquaintances, had made life extremely 
agreeable, and she had been in part able to lay aside tlid 
haunting dread of the future. She was willing to wait 
calmly for events without going to meet misfortune. It 
was obvious now that she must leave Nice and get Dulcie 
away from Alwyne^s influence; and she came to the conclu- 
sion that the best plan would be to return to London. As 
to traveling about alone with her daughter, the idea was 
intolerable; and now Mrs. Vernon was really of opinion 
that the sooner r)ulcie was remarried and handed to her 
liusband the better. She had fled from England to be out 


142 


OXCE AGAIK. 


of Nogin’s way; now she was about to return in order to 
seek him. Such is the irony of Fate! 

But what excuse was she to make to Mrs. Chester for 
leaving Nice? No allusion had been made by either of the 
ladies to Alwyne’s suit or his sudden departure, though 
Mrs. Vernon did not for a moment doubt that her friend 
was aware of the former and its connection with the lat- 
ter. It would be better to avoid the awkwardness that a 
reference to the truth might occasion, and to invent some 
plausible excuse. 

She would say that her father, who was a very old man,, 
was in such a precarious state of health that she felt it her 
duty to go to him at once, as she had received a report 
which occasioned her great anxiety. The next morning 
she would telegraph her intended return to Mr. Benson 
and the butler, and the day following they would leave 
Nice and travel straight through to England. 

Mrs. Vernon arranged all her plans with care, and, 
when they were quite settled, went back to her daughter's 
room. 

Dulcie was lying limp and exhausted on the bed, incapa- 
ble of remonstrance or resistance to her mother’s will. 
Mrs. Vernon, in a quiet, decided voice, informed her of her 
plans and of the reason which she intended to give to Mrs. 
Chester and their other acquaintances for their sudden de- 
parture. 

Dulcie did not respond by a single word. 

Mrs. Vernon, on leaving her, sent for Morton, and, ta 
the maid’s bitter disappointment, told her that she would 
have to pack up on the morrow, and assigned the same 
reason for returning to London that she proposed to give to 
every one else. 

Morton could have cried: she had never enjoyed any- 
thing so much in her life as this sojourn in the Nice hotel, 
where there was as much gayety below-stairs as above, and 
where she mixed with the most delightful company of 
valets and ladies ’-maids, was invited to soirees and dances, 
played cards, and heard the most interesting and scandal- 
ous gossip about all the families in the place who were fort- 
unate enough to be represented by domestics. 

But she could not remonstrate with her lady against thus 
arbitrarily cutting her off from her new-found joys and 
2Dleasures; she could only exhibit her chagrin in her face 


OXCE AG A IX. 143 

and manner, of which, naturally, Mrs. Vernon took not 
the smallest notice. 

Having laid her commands on Morton, Mrs. Vernon 
4SO light Mrs. Chester, and, in the most natural manner in 
the world, confided to her that she had received news of an 
alarming character about her father’s health and felt it her 
duty to return at once to England. Mrs. Chester, the 
mo^ truthful and unsuspicious woman living, believed im- 
plicitly what her friend told her, and sympathized in the 
warmest and most sincere manner with the afflicted daugh- 
ter. She deejdy regretted tlie departure of Mrs. Vernon 
and Dulcie, to both of whom she had become much at- 
tached. They had made her stay at Nice much pleasanter 
than it would otherwise have been; and she extracted a 
promise from Mrs. Vernon to go and visit her in the sum- 
mer or autumn. 

Mrs. Chester sat ruminating very sorrowfully after her 
friend left her. She was shy and retiring, not at all given 
to making acquaintances, and she scarcely knew any one 
in the hotel or the place with whom she would care to as- 
sociate when Mrs. Vernon and Dulcie left. And she 
thought sadly how the little castle had been thrown down 
which she had built for the habitation of her son and 
Dulcie — that dear, good, innocent girl, who would have 
made him such a charming wife. And he was now, as, 
alas! there could be no doubt, under the pernicious influ- 
ence of the dangerous siren at Cannes, who had cast a 
glamour over him which, as his mother believed, had never 
been cast by any woman before.. What, ah! what w^as to 
be the end of it? 


CHAPTER XVH. 

It was the end of May. Dulcie and her mother were 
entering into the festivities of the season, and leading ex- 
actly the same sort of life as they would have done had the 
untoward event of the previous November never happened. 
Noel had made no sign; they were ignorant of his fate, his 
whereabouts, of everything that concerned him. Now and 
then the remembrance of him came across both mother and 
daughter as a sort of nightmare, but, by common consent, 
no mention was ever made of him. 

Never had Dulcie received so much attention. Fate, with 


144 


ONCE AGAIN. 


the irony in which she delights, brought several advanta- 
geous suitors to her feet — suitors whom a year ago Mrs. 
Vernon would have welcomed with delight. The frigid 
reception which they met at the hands of both mother and 
daughter seemed to increase their ardor. Mrs. Vernon was 
forced by circumstances to turn a deaf ear and cold glances 
upon men whom she would have gladly smiled at, and 
Dulcie was terrified now at the approach of any maiv with 
words of love and admiration on his lips. For Alwyne was 
the real possessor of her heart, and, although she had not 
seen him since that dreadful evening at Nice, she had de- 
termined in her foolish head that he was the only man she 
ever could or would love, and, as it was impossible she 
could marry at all, she would never place herself again in 
the terrible predicament in which that alfair with Alwyne 
had landed her. 

She went to balls, parties, and plays, she danced, she 
smiled, she talked pleasantly enough; but the moment any 
admirer showed symptoms of tenderness or undue attrac- 
tion she froze at once, and, contrary to the old axiom, the 
more fire he showed, the less disposition the young lady 
evinced to him. Once or twice Mrs. Vernon had earnestly 
discussed her daughter’s affairs with Mr. Benson. He rec- 
ommended her to wait until Mr. Trevor took the initiative. 
There was no question in his own mind that the young 
man’s head had been affected by the injury; he might even 
have forgotten the fact of the marriage, or his health 
might still be in such a condition that he felt it expedient 
to' wait until he was stronger before he made the necessary 
overtures and explanations which would now be indispensa- 
ble to the recovery of his wife. It was quite possible, Mr. 
Benson suggested, that he had been warned against any ex- 
citement, and that he feared the consequences of a meeting 
with Mrs. Vernon. He must be convinced ere this, by 
Dulcie’s having made.no attempt to see or communicate 
with him, that his hold over her was not so strong as her 
mother’s. He saw nothing for it but to wait. To seek out 
the young man, and, if he was still an invalid, as thei-e 
could be no doubt he was, to put it into his head to claim 
his wife, would be a most unwise proceeding. 

Mrs. Vernon had resumed friendly relations with Dulcie. 
After their return to London she had felt the utter impos- 
sibility of their living together on bad terms; so making an 


ONCE AGAIN. 


145 


immense effort over herself, she pretended to ignore all the 
unpleasantness which had gone before, and to take up life 
from the morning before fiulcie had sallied forth to com- 
mit that fatal, irretrievable action which she imagined was 
to lead her straight to the “ happy ever after point. As 
this would have been almost impossible had they remained 
tete-a-Ute, Mrs. Vernon invited friends to stay with them; 
so that for some months now there had nearly always been 
a third person w^hose presence made the amenities of life 
necessary and comparatively easy. At the present moment 
the, in this case, welcome third was a cousin of Mrs. Ver- 
non^s, a widow of middle age, childless, prepossessing in 
face and manner, good-tempered, and fairly well-off. 
Dulcie was fond of her, and she, Mrs. Leslie, entirely re- 
ciprocated the affection. She liked the society of young- 
people better than that of women of her own age. Mrs. 
Vernon, who was suffering slight inconvenience at this 
time from a strain of a sinew, was glad that Mrs. Leslie 
should relieve her occasionally from the duties of chaperon- 
age and take Dulcie to balls and other entertainments 
which necessitated standing about. 

Mrs. Leslie loved society, and was disposed for all sorts 
of amusement. She particularly liked walking in the Row 
in the morning, and had no difficulty in persuading her 
pretty cousin to accompany her. Mother and daughter 
had kept their own counsel well, and Mrs. Leslie had not 
the faintest suspicion of the exciting romance of which the 
quiet and modest Dulcie had been the heroine a few 
months before. 

This fine May morning Mrs. Leslie and Dulcie, as usual, 
wended their way to the Park, and took chairs placed with 
their backs to the railings and commanding a view of all 
who passed down the Row. A friend of Mrs. Leslie^’s came 
up, greeted her with warmth, and asked permission to take 
the vacant chair beside her. It was at this moment, when 
her cousin •’s attention was quite absorbed, that Dulcie, 
looking to her right, beheld within a few paces of her the 
handsome face and figure of Alwyne Temple. The blood 
rushed tumultuously to her cheeks; at that instant he 
caught sight of her, and a look of delight beamed in his 
eyes. In another moment, having assured himself that 
Mrs. Vernon was not of the party, he had quietly taken the 
seat beside Dulcie and was pressing Iier hand. 


140 


02>CE AGAIK. 


l8 it safe to speak to you?^^ he whispered, with a glance 
at Mrs. Leslie^s averted head ; and Dulcie made a sign in 
the affirmative. 

My own darling! how delighted I am to see you once 
more!’"’ he murmured. ‘‘If you knew how wretched I 
have been all this time! Tell me, is your mother still dead 
against me, or has the mysterious obstacle been removed?’’^ 

At this question, fraught with horror to Dulcie, the 
crimson, which had been waning in her cheeks, flowed in 
full tide over them again. She shook her head and looked 
utterly miserable : the delight which she had felt at sight of 
Alwyne was swallowed up in the dreadful remembrance of 
I^^oel. 

Mrs. Leslie turned her head at the moment, and, well 
pleased to And that Dulcie was apparently so agreeably oc- 
cupied, returned with redoubled energy to flirting with her 
companion. Colonel Strange. 

Alwyne saw the distress in thegirks face, and it pel-plexed 
him greatly. 

“Tell me, darling, he whispered, “what is this 
wretched obstacle? We are as good as alone now: you 
know you can trust me: it is awfully cruel to keep me in 
this suspense. I have never known a happy hour since 
that night at Nice when I last saw you. I went to India, 
and havenT been back a week. Tell me, darling, I im- 
plore you,’^ he urged, in a low voice of entreaty, afraid of 
attracting Mrs. Leslie^s attention. 

It was an awful position for Dulcie, who, having been 
lifted to a seventh heaven of delight at seeing iVlwyne, was 
now plunged into the depths of woe at the remembrance 
that he could be nothing to her and that it was absolutely 
impossible for her to tell him why. 

“ DonT ask me!’"’ she said, miserably. “ I can never 
marry. It is no use talking. Mamma will not hear of it. 

“ Do you mean, solemnly, asked Alwyne, looking at 
her as though his eyes could iflerce her secret heart, “ that 
you will never be able to marry anybody?^^ 

Dulcie hesitated. There was always the hope that Noel 
might die; for all she knew, he might be dead already. 

Alwyne pressed her for an answer. 

“ I do not know about never, she said, at last, des- 
perately; “ but not yet. I must not even talk or think 
about it yet. But, oh!” in a very low voice, “ could you 


OKCE AGAIJT. 147 

not, if you rpally care for me, be patient for a little a}Kl 
wait?"^ 

“ Be patient! — good God!^^ cried Alwyne, unconsciously 
. raising his voice iu'his excitement, but suddenly checked by 
the curious looks of two ladies who were passing at the mo- 
ment. Mrs. Leslie was, fortunately, too much engaged 
with her colonel to hear his exclamation. 

“ Pray don^’t speak so loud,^^ whispered Dulcie, implor- 
ingly. “If my cousin were to hear! And if mamma 
knew I had spoken to you, she would be so dreadfully 
angry."" 

“ But can not I meet you somehow without your mother 
knowing?"" he said, eagerly. “ \Vouldn"t your cousin help 
us?"" indicating Mrs. Leslie by a gesture. 

“ It does not do to trust any one,"" answered Dulcie, 
mournfully shaking her head. ‘ ‘ I shall not tell her your 
name. I shall pretend I have forgotten it."" 

“Is she staying with you? Do you often go out with 
her?"" asked Alwyne. 

“ Yes. Mamma is not well, and my cousin is taking 
me about. "" 

Alwyne"s face brightened. 

“ Then I think we shall be able to manage something,"" 
he said, hopefully. “ Tell me, are you going to many 
dances or balls just now?"" 

“ I am going to the Fawcetts" to-night,"" she answered. 

“ That’s capital!"" replied the young man, joyfully. 

“ Charlie Fawcett and I were at Eton together. I met 
him only this morning, and he invited me, though, when I 
accepted, I had not the smallest intention of going. How 
I shall look forward to to-night! Do not be late, my dar- 
ling! Let us, at all events, have one happy evening to- 
gether. And after that,"" looking very handsome and res- 
olute, “ we will see if something can not be managed for 
the future. I don’t intend your mother or any one else to 
spoil our lives. "" 

Dulcie seemed to catch the infection of his spirit. Yes, 
for once she would be happy; for once she would forget 
that dreadful sword of Damocles hanging over her. 

“ Wish me good-bye now,"" she whispered. “ I do not 
want my cousin’s suspicions to be excited.” 

And Alwyne, after protesting, complied at last with 
deep reluctance. 


148 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Till to-night, then/' he whisioered, with a string of 
endearments hanging to the words. 

The next time that Mrs. Leslie looked round, J.^ulcie's 
companion had disap^Deared, and she suggested that it was 
time for them to be going lunchward. Her colonel accom- 
panied them to the Grosvenor gate. When he took leave, 
Mrs. Leslie questioned Dulcie about her friend in the Row. 

‘‘ I forget his name," Dulcie repUed, mendaciously. 

“ He is very good-looking — wonderfully good-looking," 
remarked Mrs. Leslie. ‘‘ And I thought he seemed very 
devoted to you. " 

' Oh, no," replied Dulcie, “not at all. I met him at 
]l!4ice; but do not mention him before mamma. For some 
reason or other she did not like him, and perhaps she 
might be vexed at his speaking to me." 

“ I suppose that, like most good-looking 5 "Oung men, he 
has no money," returned Mrs. Leslie. “ Do not be afraid, 
my dear; I will be the soul of discretion. But I wonder 
that he has not made more impression on you. Tell me, 
Dulcie, have you never been in love?" 

“ I think being in love is a mistake," retiumed Dulcie, 
evasively. 

“ But how can one help it?" said her cousin, gayly. “ I 
have always been in love more or less all my life." 

“ And is Colonel Strange the last?" asked Dulcie, de- 
lighted at the opportunity of turning the conversation away 
from herself. 

Mrs. Leslie blushed like a girl, and all the way home ex- 
patiated on the agreeable qualities of Colonel Strange. 

Dulcie excused herself from driving with her mother in 
the afternoon. Her mind was full of excitement: she was 
looking forward eagerly to the night. But afterwardl 
What was to happen afterward? It seemed as if she did 
not care. Only let her spend these delightful hours with 
Alwyne — dance with him, sit out in some sequestered spot 
W'ith him, hear him say again that he loved her — and then 
— come what would! How strangely things happened in 
the world! These jieople who were giving the dance to- 
night were the same at whose house she had met Noel. At 
this moment Dulcie could not believe or realize that she 
had ever cared for him: it seemed to her as though she 
must have been under some fatal spell. When she com- 
jiared him with Alwyne, she could not imagine what she 


ONCE AGAIX. 


140 


liud ever seen to like in him. But at that time she had not 
known Alwyne. There was hardly a man of her acquaint- 
ance whom she did not prefer to poor Noel, so prejudiced 
a,nd bitter she felt against him for the suffering and 
wretchedness he had caused her. 

Morton thought lier strangely fanciful and capridous as 
she dressed for the ball that evening. Usually complacent- 
ly indifferent to her appearance, she seemed to-night in- 
tensely anxious about it: nothing could please her or con- 
vince her that she was really looking her best. And yet 
she had never looked so pretty; the unusual animation 
which excitement lent to her became her amazingly. Her 
mother was surprised at her beauty, and groaned inwardly 
^s she thought how disastrously its advantages had been 
thrown away. 

Alwyne was on the stairs waiting for Uulcie when she ar- 
rived at the ball, and a moment after she had greeted her 
hostess his arm was round her, and they were gliding away 
in the most delightful of waltzes. The rooms were not yet 
full, and dancing was not only possible but enjoyable. 
Three quarters of an hour passed, it was just upon midnight, 
and Alwyne had not left her for one instant. 

Uulcie knew that she was committing the gravest im- 
prudence — that her mother would never forgive her if she 
ever came to learn the events of this evening; but, some- 
how, the danger and wrong of what she was doing only 
onJianced the excitement and delight of it: she seemed to 
care nothing for the morrow. 

Every one remarked this handsome pair, and their 
absorption in each other; it was rumored at once that Al- 
wyne had proposed to and been accepted by Miss Vernon. 

Mrs. Leslie had some slight misgivings about this very 
marked flirtation: she had never seen Uulcie give encour- 
agement to any man before, and meant to remonstrate 
gently with her on the subject; not because she minded 
herself, but because she was afraid of Mrs. Vernon^s re- 
proaches if it came to her ears. 

The house in which the ball was given was a new one, 
built in the old-fashioned style, and there were quaint nooks 
and corners in it highly suitable and appropriate iov soli- 
tudes a deuo:. It was close upon midnight when Alwyne 
sought refuge in one of these delightful spots with his be- 
loved one. It was a curtained recess, partly draped, and 


150 


ONCE AGAIN. 


screened off by palms and flowers, much sought after by 
such pairs, w^ho wished for a time to be alone among a 
crowd and for the moment to live only for each other. 
Until now, though Alwyne had cast many a longing glance 
toward this bower, it had not been vacant, but at present 
his turn had come, and he and Dulcie were, to all intents 
and purposes, ‘‘ far from the madding crowd.’’' 

Dulcie felt, knew, that she was doing wrong; but the 
knowledge did not hinder her from doing it: Alwyne had 
such a mastery over her that she did not even attempt to 
oppose his will. No fear of their being interrupted. She 
had refused to engage herself for any dance except those 
she gave to Alwyne; the edge of her tulle skirt peeping be- 
yond the palms gave notice that the alcove was occupied; 
and, although there was room for a second couple, the 
vacant half was not coveted by those to whom the whole 
would alone have been acceptable. 

Alwyne was madly in love with his pretty companion; 
he refused to recognize any obstacle to his passion, and 
Dulcie had almost got beyond the remembrance that there 
was one. She had assured herself that it was ‘‘ only for 
this one evening," and, satisfying her conscience with that 
excuse, she, as we have known her do on previous occasions, 
threw prudence to the winds and lived but for the moment. 
She loved Alwyne: she hated Noel; she banished him from 
her thoughts and refused to remember his existence or her 
bond. 

Alwyne had given up asking questions. Confident in his 
own strong will, and buoyed up by his passion, he was de- 
termined that all should come right, and defied Fate, Mrs. 
Vernon, and everything else. 

Now he cared for nothing but to feel Dulcie 's hand in 
his, to breathe impassioned words into her dainty ear, to 
assure himself by the expression of her eyes that her heart 
w.as his. Ue drew her toward him; his lips just touched 
hers, when there came the crash of a falling palm, and, 
starting apart, Dulcie with a smothered scream, Alwyne 
with a muttered curse, they became conscious of a haggard 
face glaring upon them through the flower-screen. Another 
moment, and its owner stood panting before them. 

“ How dare you touch my wife?" he almost shrieked, 
then staggered and fell forward, and had not Alwyne dart- 
ed up and caught him he would have fallen prone into Dul- 


OKCE AGAIX. 


151 


<iie’s lap. For one awful moment the girl was paralyzed; 
then, as she heard a gurgling sound in the unhappy man^s 
throat, and saw Alwyne holding him, she started up, and, 
white, scared, terrified as one who has seen a ghost, she 
hurried to the ball-room, where she had left her cousin. 

Most fortunately, Mrs. Leslie was standing by the door. 
Before she had time even to give a startled ejaculation, 
Bulcie caught her by the arm. 

“ Come at once — at once!'^ she whispered in a terrified 
voice. “ I must go home. I am ill.’"’ 

Mrs. Leslie was a woman of tact. She saw that some- 
thing serious had happened, and that this was not the time 
to ask questions. So she complied at once, without a 
word, accompanied the white, trembling girl down-stairs, 
sent for the carriage, and hurried her into it the moment it 
arrived. 

When it drove away with them, she asked Dulcie in vain 
what htid happened. 

Oh!^’ moaned the girl, I shall die! I shall die! Oh! 
what will become of mer^^ 

All sorts of dreadful doubts and fears took possession of 
Mrs. Leslie, but she was forced to remain with them unsat- 
isfied, for the only words that the girl would utter were 
repeated asseverations that she would die. 

That her agitation was connected with the handsome 
young man who had been her companion all the evening, 
Mrs. Leslie never -for an instant doubted; but what could 
he have said? what could he have done? 

Mrs. Vernon would be very angry — would never let her 
chaperon Dulcie again; and, urged by this fear, she said, 
almost sharply — 

‘‘ For goodness’ sake, Dulcie, control yourself. Don’t 
let the servants see you in this state. What on earth will 
your mother say?” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Mrs. VERi^oisr was still in the drawing-room when they 
returned. She was generally glad of an excuse to sit up 
late, and to-night she happened to have an interesting 
book. 

Dulcie saw by the light in the drawing-room that her 


152 


ONCE AGAIN. 


mother had not retired: she would, therefore, be forced to 
meet her. Indeed, she was rather glad of this, for she felt 
it absolutely necessary to tell her of the awful apparition of 
Noel and, to beg her assistance and co-operation against 
him. So she said hurriedly to her cousin — 

Do not come into the drawing-room: I must speak to 
mamma alone. And, whatever you do,^^ imploringly, 

do not let out that I met Mr. Temple either to-night or 
this morning. 

Mrs. Leslie took the hint, and went off to her own room, 
her curiosity aroused to the highest pitch. 

Meanwhile Dulcie, still trembling and white as a sheet, 
went into the drawing-room. 

“ Good heavens! what has happened? Are you ill, 
Dulcie?^' cried Mrs. Vernon, at sight of the girTs tell-tale 
face. 

Dulcie threw herself into a chair and sobbed hysterically. 

Mrs. Vernon, who was strong-minded and had no sym- 
pathy with hysterics or violent demonstrations of feeling, 
said, impatiently — 

“ Do not go on in that absurd way, Dulcie! Tell me 
directly what has happened!'’^ 

‘‘Oh, the most awful thing !^^ sobbed Dulcie, racking 
her brain to think how she should avoid all mention of Al- 
wyne in the terrible avowal. 

“ What? what?^^ cried her mother. “ Tell me at once! 
Wliat awful thing?^^ 

“ He was there !^^ almost shrieked Dulcie, and gave vent 
to redoubled expressions of emotion. 

“He! who?^^ said Mrs. Vernon; but she had a strong 
conviction as to who the man represented by the personal 
pronoun was. 

She rose. 

“ Now, Dulcie, she said, “for Heaven’s sake exercise 
a little self-control and tell me what has happened.” 

“ I had been dancing,” sobbed Dulcie, “ and I was sit- 
ting out — and — and suddenly I saw a dreadful face glaring 
at me through the flowers, and then he came round the 
corner and said something about / my wife!’ and fell down 
in a flt.” 

Mrs. Vernon turned as white as her daughter. In a mo- 
ment she conjured up a terrible scene of curious eyes and 
whispering tongues and her unfortunate daughter the hero- 


ONCE AGAIN. 153 

iiie of a most painful esclandre. She stood as if turned to 
stone. 

“ Who was with you?^^ she asked at last. “ Did many 
people see this — this dreadful scene?^'’ 

“No/ ^gasped Dulcie. “Only — the man I was danc- 
ing with. I left him with — with the other, and rushed 
away and found Cousin Anna, and we came off at once. ” 

“And what did you tell Anna?’^ 

“ Nothing — not a word,^^ sobbed Dulcie. 

“ Did you give her no explanation?'’^ 

“No.^^ 

“ And who was the man you were dancing with?^^ 

“ I don^t know his name,^^ answered mendacious Dul- 
cie. 

“ Do you think he heard what — what the other said?’' 

“ I don’t know. He was holding him up, and I rushed 
away. And oh, mamma! what am I to do? Perhaps he 
will come here. Oh, I can’t, I won’t see him! What shall 
I do?” Dulcie’s distress was so intense, her look of terror 
so real, that Mrs. Vernon had not the heart to add to her 
wretchedness. 

“ I do not know. We must think about it, ” she an- 
swered. 

“ Oh, mamma! for pity’s sake, take me away some- 
where! hide me! Oh, don’t let him find me! Oh, per- 
haps if you give him money he will go away and leave me 
alone!” And this was the young My who had been so 
ardently attached to Mr. Trevor that she had walked out 
of her mother’s house and married him clandestinely, and 
here, without any fault or crime on his part, on the very 
next occasion of their meeting she was filled with horror 
and loathing of him, and asking whether he could not be 
bought off! As this passed through Mrs. Vernon’s mind, 
she almost pitied Noel as much as she despised her daugh- 
ter. 

“ How came I to bring such a child into the world?” 
she groaned in spirit; but she kept the thought to herself. 

“ You had better go to bed now,” she said, “ and I will 
think the matter over. As soon after eight as you are 
awake in the morning, send for me, and I will tell you 
what conclusion I have come to. Do not say a word to 
Morton of what has happened: tell her you were taken ill 
at the ball : she must think what slie likes. ” 


154 


ONCE AGAIN. 


When Dulcie had leffc her, Mrs. Vernon sought her 
cousin with a view of eliciting what she knew or suspected, 

‘‘ The most extraordinary thing imaginable exclaimed 
Mrs. Leslie. “ Ten minutes before, I had seen her danc- 
ing apparently in the best of spirits, and suddenly she 
rushed up to me looking as if she had seen a ghost. Fort- 
unately, most of the people had gone down to supper, and 
I managed to get her away without attracting much atten- 
tion. But, my dear Margaret, what was it? She could 
not tell me a word, and I could get nothing out of her ex- 
cept that she would die. 

“It is no very great matter,^ ^ replied Mrs. Vernon, 
speaking in a light, unconcerned tone. “ There was a 
man whose attentions to her gave us a little trouble last 
winter, and I fancy from what she tells me that he made 
rather a scene, and then fainted. Very disagreeable, of 
course, and poor Dulcie is not very strong-minded, you 
know. But with whom was she dancing?^^ 

“ I really did not notice, replied Mrs. Leslie, for all 
three ladies had made up their minds to tell each other 
stories pret^ freely. 

If Mrs. Vernon had known the truth, it would have as- 
sisted her immensely in making her plans; but it did not 
for a single instant enter her brain to consider that Mr. 
Temple had played a part, and a very important part too, 
in this painfuT affair. 

Little sleep visited her that night: the great question 
which occupied her brain was how this terrible affair was to 
be settled with as little scandal as possible. Noel was now 
partially recovered, though evidently still weak: there could 
be no question that he would claim his wife. She must, if 
possible, persuade him to consent to some weeks^ delay 
whilst a pretense of courtship was gone through, and then 
he and Dulcie must be quietly remarried in church. She 
did not despair of bringing him' to reason, and was much 
more occupied in thinking how Dulcie was to be managed. 
That this sudden distaste for him would last, Mrs. Vernon 
did not for an instant believe: if she had been, or fancied 
herself, so fond of him once, the feeling would return when 
they were thrown together again. In any case she had 
elected to marry him, and had no choice but to take the 
consequences. 

Noel would write or come to the house, and it would be 


ONCE AGAIN. 


155 


l3est for all parties that Dulcie should be out of the wav. 
Mrs. Vernon bethought her that she might send Dulcie otf 
that very day to an aunt at Brighton. Eight o’clock had 
scarcely struck when there was a tap at her door, followed 
hy the entrance of Dulcie, white, wide-eyed, looking the 
picture of fright and misery. 

** I have been awake since five,” slie said; but was 
afraid to disturb you before. Oh, mamma! have you 
thought of anything?’'’ 

Yes,” replied Mrs. Vernon, cheerfully: I am going 
to telegraph to your aunt Clara to know if she will take 
■ you in for a few days. ” 

Dulcie sighed with an air of great relief. 

Oh, yes,” she exclaimed. Anything to get away!” 
Mrs. Vernon wrote on a telegraph form— 

Can you have Dulcie for a few days? Wants change. 
If so, iviU send her hy one-ffty. Ansiuer paid,^’ 

She rang for the house-maid and gave orders that it was 
to be sent at once. Then she seated herself in an arm- 
chair, and, looking at Dulcie, said, quietly— . 

“ We must now decide how matters are to be arranged. 
You are, as I told you, as much Mr. Trevor’s wife as 
though you had been married in church, and he can claim 
you at any moment he chooses. He will have to go 
through certain legal formalities with the court of chancery, 
and will be compelled, fortunately for you, to consent to 
your money being settled upon yourself. I shall endeavor 
to persuade him to ignore for the present the ceremony at 
the registry- oflice, to make a pretense of being engaged to 
you, and to marry you in church in a few weeks’ time.” 

“ Oh, mamma!” cried Dulcie, trembling like a leaf, 
can nothing be done? Can it not be proved illegal, or 
can not I get a divorce?” 

‘*I have told you,” replied her mother, coldly, ‘‘that 
you are his wife. Nothing can alter the fact. And it 
seems a most extraordinary thing to me that, if you were 
so desperately in love with him a few short months ago 
that you could defy everything and eveiybody in order to 
marry him, you should now, without a shadow of reason, 
have changed so completely.” 

Dulcie sat looking the picture of misery and anguish. ♦ 

“ At all events,” pursued Mrs. Vernon, “ it will be best 
for you to be out of the way for the present. I will hear 


15(3 


OKCE AGAIK. 


what he has to say and write, or perhaps go to yon and tell 
you the result/^ 

In less than an hour the answer to the telegram arrived. 
It would be quite convenient for Dulcie to go as soon as she 
liked. 

Then Morton was ordered to pack her young lady’s 
trunk. She could not be spared to accompany her, but 
Mrs. John Vernon’s maid would do everything that was 
necessary. Mrs. Vernon enjoined the strictest secrecy on 
Dulcie — which, however, was unnecessary. The girl was 
too thoroughly miserable and ashamed of the whole affair 
to want to confide it to any one. 

She had been gone nearly an hour when a card was 
brought to Mrs. Vernon, who was sitting at luncheon with 
Mrs. Leslie. 

Mr. Alwyne she read, with unfeigned annoy- 

ance. 

‘‘ Is Mr. Temple in the drawing-room?” she asked,, 
rather sharply, of the butler. 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

Why in the name of all that was disagreeable should he 
add to her perplexities by coming at this particular junct- 
ure? When the card was handed to her, the name she had 
fully expected to read was that of Trevor. 

However, there was no help for it: he was in the house, 
and she must see him. She rose with an expression of 
great annoyance, and left Mrs. Leslie feeling rather fright- 
ened and guilty. 

Mrs. Vernon assumed her coldest, stiff est manner as she 
entered the drawing-room. Alwyne himself looked to the 
full as haughty. 

She seated herself, and motioned him to a chair. 

.He began what he had to say at once with the air of a 
person who, having right on his side, is not to be intimi- 
dated by any show of aggressiveness on the part of his 
opponent. 

‘ You will remember,” he said, stiffiy, ‘‘ that last winter 
at Nice I proposed for the hand of Miss Vernon.” 

Miss Vernon’s mother made a cold gesture of assent. 

“You informed me that there was an obstacle to my 
sifft, but yod declined absolutely to inform me as to the 
nature of that obstacle.” 

Mrs. Vernon made another gesture of cold affirmation. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


157 


“ May I ask,” proceeded Alwyne with a particularly dis- 
agreeable and supercilious inflection of voice, whether the 
obstacle which you declined to state was that your daughter 
has a husband already 

For a moment the room seemed to Mrs. Vernon to swim. 
Her self-possession deserted her. She had been absolutely 
unprepared for such a blow as this. 

She was silent: she could really not find one word to 
say. Then, partly recovering herself, and endeavoring to 
reassume her cold, stiff manner, she said, 

“ I must really ask you to explain yourself.” 

By all means,” returned Alwyne, with alacrity. “I 
had been dancing with Miss Vernon — I beg her pardon, 
Mrs. — , I do not know her name — and was sitting out 
with her, when suddenly our conversation was broken in 
upon by a man who asked me how I dared'toucli his wife, 
and then proceeded to have a fit, in which I had the honor 
of rendering him assistance. ” 

Mrs. Vernon was rent by conflicting feelings; the prin- 
cipal one was anger against her daughter. Dulcie^s unpar- 
donable duplicity filled her with wrath : she would not be 
made the scapegoat of her folly and wickedness any longer: 
let the consequences be on her own head! Again she was 
silent for some seconds. 

‘‘ I quite see, from the manner in which you receive my 
communication,” proceeded Alwyne, almost insolently, 
that I have discovered the real obstacle. But I must 
confess one thing astonishes me, and that is that both Miss 
Vernon or Mrs. — , whatever her name is, and yourself 
allowed me to believe that I niight ultimately hope. I 
presume you were counting on this — this personas death: 
he seems to be in very indifferent health.” 

Mrs. Vernon was goaded beyond endurance by his tone. 

‘‘ I have no longer any wish to screen my da ugh ter,”- she 
said. Her folly is so unaccountable that I can not pre- 
tend to extricate her from the dilemmas into which she is 
always getting herself. I shall tell you the facts of the 
case. If you are a gentleman ” — and she flashed a look 
upon him which plainly intimated that she thought his 
claim to that title very doubtful — “ you will consider my 
confidences sacred; if not, you must, if you choose, publish 
them to the world.” 

And she proceeded to relate to his astonished ears the 


15S 


OJsCE AGAIN. 


Story which we already know, together with her yiews and 
intentions for the future. 

Indignant as Alwyne was on his own account, he could 
not help feeling for the moment that the unfortunate 
mother had been hardly used, and he forbore to express 
his anger at the deceit which had been practiced upon him- 
self, and merely said that it was very strange and a very 
bad business, and that Mrs. Vernon might rely upon his 
keeping what she had told him strictly secret. So they 
parted on better terms than might have been expected — 
Alwyne going his way, stunned and perplexed at the be- 
havior of his adored Dulcie, and Mrs. Vernon leaning back 
in her chair, filled with wrath and bitterness against her 
daughter, and determined to be rid of all responsibility 
about her as soon as possible. 

She was still sitting, a prey to anger and wretchedness, 
when the butler brought her in a note. 

This simply contained a request for an interview, and 
was signed Noel Trevor. 

Mrs. Vernon groaned in spirit. But the interview must 
be gone through with, and she made up her mind that the 
best thing would be to get it over as soon as possible. She 
wrote an answer saying that Mr. Trevor could call as soon 
as he felt disposed, told the butler she would be at home 
only to Mr. Trevor that afternoon, sent a message to Mrs. 
Leslie that she would not drive until late, and then en- 
deavored to brace her nerves for the coming encounter. 

How often she had congratulated herself upon having a 
pretty daughter! Now she only lamented bitterly that slie 
had ever had a child at all. She absolutely longed to get 
rid of her and all the worry and trouble which she involved. 
Instead of the wrath which she had always intended to 
2^our out on Noel when she should see him, she now pre- 
pared to meet him with calm indifference and to make 
preparations to hand over his wife to him at as early a date 
as decency permitted. What Dulcie felt in the matter was 
of but small concern in her eyes. 

Only a quarter of an hour elapsed before Noel was 
ushered into her presence. He looked dreadfully haggard 
and ill; and, although she felt but scant pity for him, she 
devoutly hoped that he was not going to faint or make a 


OisX'E AG A IX. 159 

She bowed, without offering her hand, and pointed to a 
chair. 

I see,^^ she said, “ that you are still ill. You had bet- 
ter take time to compose yourself: we are not likely to be 
interrupted. 

Poor Noel sat down and made a violent effort to control 
his agitation. 

I am quite prepared to hear all you have to say,^^ ob- 
served Mrs. Vernon, quietly, her one object being to pre- 
vent him from exciting himself dangerously and causing a 
catastrophe. 

I feel,^^ he said at last, in a trembling tone, that you 
must think very badly of me. And he looked implor- 
ingly at her. 

“It does not much matter what I think of you, she 
answered, coldly. “ It will be more to the point to talk 
about what you propose for the future.'’^ 

A great load was taken from the young man^s mind: no 
opposition was going to be offered to his claim, and he be- 
came calmer at once. 

“ You are married to my daughter,^^ pursued Mrs. Ver- 
non. “ Unpleasant as the fact is, it is not one that can 
be got over. The only thing that surprises me is that you 
have allowed all this time to elapsd without making any 
sign.^'’ 

“I have had a dreadful illness, said Noel, eagerly. 

For weeks after the accident I was unconscious; then I 
remained in an apathetic state for months, scarcely re- 
membering or caring to think of anything. It is only 
within the last six weeks that my health has improved so 
much that I have been really able to think seriously about 
the future. And — and not hearing a word from — Dulcie,’"’ 
— he hesitated over the name, as though it were a liberty to 
j^ronounce it — “ I was in doubt how to appro^h her; and 
— and I thought I ought to get quite strong*before— be- 
fore I — 

He broke down, too embarrassed to know how to con- 
tinue. 

“ And yet,^^ said Mrs. Vernon, “ you were well enough 
to go to a ball last night. 

“ I went with the hope of seeing and speaking to her,^^ 
exclaimed Noel, eagerly. “ I called at the house that 
morning, hoping to hear something about her, and they 


IGO 


ONCE AGAIN. 


told me they were giving a dance, and pressed me to go to 
it, and I went. And then,^^ added the poor lad, growing 
painfully agitated, “when I saw her with another man's 
arm round her — another man's lips touching hers — I think 
I went mad; and I don't remember what happened after- 
ward until I was in the cab driving home. " 

And Noel hid his face in his hands, and groaned. 

This was another pleasing revelation for the mother: 
Alwyne's arm round her daughter's waist, his lips touch- 
ing hers. Decidedly the sooner she had a husband to look 
after her the better. She felt almost sorry for Noel. 

“ Are you sure of what you say?" she asked, in a chill 
voice. “I can hardly believe my daughter capable of 
such — such an indiscretion. Do you not think that you 
were perhaps under the influence of some delusion, as your 
brain can not be very strong at present?" 

“No! no!" he groaned. “I saw it all too well. The 
infernal villain!" 

“ Pray control yourself," interposed Mrs. Vernon, cold- 
ly. “ But, now, W'hat do you propose to do?" 

May I not see her?" cried Noel, the color flushing into 
his pale face. “ Oh, pray, pray, do let me! She did love 
me — oh, perhaps if I see her, she will explain all!" 

“ You can not see her," returned Mrs. Vernon. “ She 
has gone to Brighton; and iierhaps it will be better to tell 
you the truth, even if it is not very palatable: she shrinks 
from the idea of seeing you." 

“ Oh, my God!" cried Noel; and he leaned his elbows 
on the table, and the tears trickled fast through his 
fingers. 

He was very weak at present, poor fellow! 

I 


CHAPTER XIX.’ 

“You will see her, of course," said Mrs. Vernon, feel- 
ing just the least bit sorry for him. “ But, before you can 
consider her your wife, you will have to go through a form 
of — of courtship and to marry her in a church, as I would 
not for one moment allow' the story of that disgraceful 
affair at the registry office to be known." 

“ I will do anything — anything!" cried Noel. 

“ And you will have to attend at the court of chancery 
and agree to her money being settled upon herself. " 


OKCE AGAIK. 


101 


flashed. 

“ You do not, I hope, think, he cried, ‘‘ that any con- 
sideration of money influenced me in the matter. 

Most people would think so,^^ returned Mrs. Vernon, 
chillingly. 

I swear,” cried the young man, “ that I never knew 
she had a penny: never had a thought or wish but for her- 
self. 

I believe you have not any means of supporting a girl 
accustomed to every comfort and luxury,” observed Mrs. 
Vernon. 

isoel hung his head. 

‘‘ I thought our love would help us to get over that,” he 
murmured. 

I have frequently heard that theory,” said Mrs. Yer- 
non, contemptuously. “ But I never knew it answer in 
2)ractice. - My daughter has never in her life wanted for 
anything, and I do not think she is a girl to bear poverty 
and discomfort cheerfully. 

Noel bit his lip and looked the picture of misery. 

However,” proceeded Mrs. Vernon, ‘‘when slie is of 
age she will have a thousand a year, and, meantime, you 
will have to manage as best you can. I presume you in- 
tend to join your regiment in India?” 

‘‘I have not communicated with my colonel yet,” an- 
swered Noel: “ the doctor did not think me quite fit for 
duty. I suppose as I did not go out with the regiment I 
shall have to join at the depot first, unless I can get sent 
out with a draft.” 

“ I should think you had better go to India, if possible,” 
said Mrs. Vernon, who, after all that she had gone through 
with Dulcie, felt that it would be a relief to get rid of her 
entirely. 

“I should like it best, ” exclaimed Noel, brightening; 
“ and — she — seemed quite willing in the winter. When 
may I see her?” 

“ When she returns from Brighton, in a day or two. If 
you leave me your’ address, I will let you know when to 
call.” 

Noel felt that his mother-in-law was behaving much bet- 
ter than he could have expected. He had a good heart, 
and was smitten with ■ remorse at the thought of the pain 
and grief he must have caused her. 

0 


162 


OKCE AGAIN. 


‘‘I am afraid/^ he said, diffidently, ‘‘ that yon must 
have rather a bad opinion of me. I hope you will forgive 
me for the trouble I have caused you.-’’ 

The remembrance of her -wrongs rose forcibly in the 
mother’s breast, and she said, with a burst of anger, 

‘‘ Until she met you, Dulcie had never given me a mo- 
ment’s anxiety. She was my one hope and comfort in life. 
I looked forward to her making a good marriage — to seeing 
her happy and well provided for. You have wrecked all 
my hopes. You taught her to deceive me; you inflicted 
on me the severest blow I ever had in my life: take care 
that your sin does not recoil on your own head, and that 
she does not deceive you! I can not unmarry you: all I 
now wish is to see and hear as little of both of you in the 
future as possible.” 

Noel was crushed: he had no answer to make, and rose, 
looking very humble and crestfallen, to take leave. He 
was even forgetting, in his embarrassment, to give his ad- 
dress. 

Where are you to be found?” asked Mrs. Vernon, 
stiffly^ and he wrote his address on a card with a trembling 
hand, and then, bowing, left the room, as his . hostess did 
not attempt to proffer her hand. 

When he had reached home, and had leisure to think, he 
was assailed by all manner of painful doubts. Dulcie, his 
darling, his dear sweet little wife, as he had thought of her 
over and over again, shrunk from him — had gone away to 
avoid him! Did she care for that other man in whose em- 
brace — curse him! — he had seen her? His blood boiled at 
the recollection. Then Mrs. Vernon’s words came back 
to him: 

“ Take care that she does not deceive you!” 

He had imagined that her silence since the accident had 
been the result of fear of her mother; he had felt sure that 
she would be as happy at being restored to him, though 
that was hardly possible, as he would be at finding her once 
again. He h^ never realized the possibility of another 
man stepping in between them. 

He felt that he must see her — must know the truth from 
her own lips; and he resolved to go to Brighton that very 
evening and endeavor to find her. 

Although he and Alwyne went down in the same train 
on the same quest, neither happened to come across nor to 


ONCE AGAIN. 


163 


guess at the other^s vicinity. For Mrs. Vernon had also 
mentioned to Alwyne that her daughter had gone to her 
aunt in Brighton, little imagining tliat now he knew she 
had a husband the young man would dream of following 
her, or of attempting to see her again. But Alwyne, after 
his first ebullition of wrath, returned afresh to his tender- 
ness. for Dulcie, and, feeling sure that she was in reality 
devoted to him and indifferent to his rival, all sorts of wild 
projects of carrying her off seethed in his mind, though he 
pretended to himself that he only intended to reproach her 
and bid her farewell forever. 

Noel spent the morning after his arrival at Brighton in 
pursuit of his wife. He had to keep reminding himself 
that she was his wife, his lawful wife; for the most dis- 
tressing doubts of her love harassed his brain. It was a 
fine morning, and she was sure to be out somewhere: at 
Brighton peoifie never stay in-doors. He walked along the 
King^s Hoad, the Esplanade, went on the West Pier, scan- 
ning every face eagerly. Then he took a victoria^ and, 
bidding the man drive slowly, went up to Kemp Town. 
And when he very nearly reached the end, he caught sight 
of a pretty figure in a neat, tailor-made dress, sauntering 
along listlessly, and his heart gave a great bound as he 
recognized Mrs. Noel Trevor. He stopped the carriage, 
paid the driver, and walked slowly after her, so agitated 
and trembling that he was forced to stop for a moment and 
support himself by the wooden rail. 

Dulcie took a seat in one of the embrasures and looked 
out seaward. There was no one near, except a nurse-girl 
lazily pushing a perambulator, and Noel waited until she 
was out of earshot l^efore he approached. 

Then he came close up and said, in a low voice — 

‘‘Dulciel^^ 

The girl gave a little gasp of terror and looked at him 
with affrighted eyes. He sat down beside her, and she 
started up, as if for fright. 

For God’s sake!” cried poor Noel, “ don’t look at me 
like that!” 

And he laid a detaining hand on her arm, and trembled 
violently, half from emotion, half from weakness. 

“ Have you forgotten?” he went on. ‘‘ Don’t you care 
for me any longer?” 

A shrinking horror of him crept through Dulcie’s veins. 


164 : 


ONCE AGAIN. 


She remained motionless, speechless, looking at him with 
cold distaste. How had she ever cared for him? How in- 
ferior he was in every way to Alwyne! and now he looked 
so shrunk and ill and haggard, he was almost repulsive to 
her. She felt no pity for his distress— nothing but re- 
pugnance. His eyes were fixed on her whilst he waited 
for some answer to his impassioned words, but none came: 
she was thinking how she could get away from him. 

‘‘ Dulcie,'^ he said again, imploringly, “ after all I have 
suffered, have you nothing to say to me? Don^fc you care 
for me any longer? 

“ No,^'’ she answered, remorselessly. I do not care for 
you. You got some bad influence over me and persuaded 
me to deceive my mother. I was so young, I did not know 
any better. It was very wicked and cruel of you. 

Great Heaven! this was his reception, after all his tender 
dreams of his darling wife and of their meeting and reunion ! 

“ What has changed you?^^ he asked, in a hollow, mis- 
erable voice. “ You did care for me.^^ Then, with sud- 
den passion, drawing near to her, Oh, my darling, how 
can you be so cruel to me?'’^ 

“ Do not touch me!'’^ she cried, crouching into the cor- 
ner of the seat; “ do not come near me!^^ 

A wild feeling of jealousy surged through JSToeDs heart 
as he remembered the scene at the ball. 

You could bear another man to touch you — to put his 
arm round you — to kiss your lips!^^ he cried, violently. 

My God! why had I not strength to kill him? But I 
will hunt him down! I will — 

He stopped suddenly: a horrible faintness was creeping 
over him: he felt that he must control himself or he would 
swoon or die. 

He leaned back for a moment, gasping, so pale aiid hag- 
gard that Dulcie was terrified. 

She remained speechless in her crouching posture, and 
after a few moments Noel was able to speak with more self 
command. 

“ I am not very strong yet,^^ he said, and then added, 
with a tremulous yearning in his voice — 

“ Why do you look like that? Why should you be afraid 
of me? Do I not love you better than an thing in the 
world?’ ^ 

But his words of tenderness were hateful to Dulcie. She 


ONCE AGAIN. 


165 


had not a grain of either love or pity for liim. She said 
obstinately to herself that he had entrapped and deceived 
her. He was the obstacle and stumbling-block in the way 
of her happiness. She even had a shadowy idea that if he 
would give her up she might still be happy with Alwyne. 

“ What is the use of your loving mer^^ she said, looking 
away at the sea. “I do not love you; I never shall. If 
you really cared for me, you would go away, and give me 
a chance of* being happy. 

“ With him?’^ asked Noel, in a cold, bitter voice. 
“ You do not seem to realize that you are my wife; that I 
have the right to claim you now, this moment; that I can, 
if I choose, take you away with me here and now, and that 
no one can stop me.^^ 

“ I will not go with joa/^ cried Dulcie. ‘‘ I would 
rather throw myself into the sea. You entrapped and 
cheated me into marrying you : you only wanted my money. 
And now, if it were not for you, I could marry a man 
whom I love, and who is rich, and whom mamma would bo 
only too glad for me to marry. I will never, never be your 
wife. I hate you!"’^ 

Fear and dislike of him had worked the girl up almost 
to frenzy. She looked at him with fierce defiance. She 
seemed capable of throwing herself into the sea to escape 
him. 

Noel looked at her for a moment, and then slowly turned 
his eyes seaward. The bitterness of death seemed to creep 
over him: love, youth, life, wrestled in a dying agony on 
his heart. It was engulfed as though all those shining, 
sunlighted waves had gone over it and stifled every atom of 
hope and joy in the cruel sands below. 

Morning after morning, as life and strength had come 
slowly back to him, he had thought and dreamed of this 
fair, pretty face; but in his visions there was a tender love- 
light in the eyes, happy smiles dimpled the mouth, and he 
had indulged in the most blissful anticipations of their 
meeting — of her joy at his recovery — of the blessed future 
that was to atone for all the anguish he had gone through. 
Was this pale girl, with hatred in her looks, and wild 
words of anger and defiance on her lips, the cherished dar- 
ling of his dreams and thoughts? or was this scene some 
wild fantasy of his still distraught brain: No, it was all 
too true. He was wide awake. Dulcie was beside him. 


1G6 


OJfCE AGAIIs’. 


Whilst he lay battling with death, another man had come 
and stolen her from him, even as he had stolen her from 
her mother. His own guilt was borne in upon him with 
<)ruel force. 

And now she hated him. Gracious Heaven! she had 
taunted him with having sought her for her money; she 
had sworn that, sooner than be his, she would throw herself 
into the sea. Oh, God! at that moment how he wished 
that he was lying under those glittering waves, with his 
darling locked in nis arms — his darling of other days; not 
this frightened, angry, unloving woman beside him. The 
future seemed to grow clear to him as he sat there, his 
lieart full of deadly despair: he must go away to India, and 
by some means or other set her free. Would he force her 
to unwilling bonds? What joy or pleasure could he have 
of her, since she hated him? 

He sat motionless, his eyes seeming to gaze at the restless 
waters, patched with blue and purple and pale green, with 
here and there a tiny fleck of foam on the crest of a wave- 
let. 

Dulcie watched him with bated breath at first, and then, 
as he made no sign or movement, she began to speculate 
upon the possibility of getting away from him. Suddenly, 
as he seemed lost to consciousness, she darted up and fled 
away. Noel did not move, did not even turn to glance after 
her; he had looked his last upon her: this fair girl whom 
he had loved so tenderly, -upon whom all his hopes had 
■centered, was to be no more to him henceforth forever. 

He did not know clearly what he meant to do, only that 
lie would go far away from her and never trouble her more : 
he would get out to his regiment as soon as possible, and 
when the wide seas were between them she, at all events, 
would rejoice. 

Meantime, Dulcie, with a beating heart, gained her aunt's 
house, and flew to her room to compose her agitated feel- 
ings and features before going down to lunch. 

Mrs. John Vernon was a stout, comfortable lady, by no 
means of an inquisitive or suspicious turn of mind, and too 
much absorbed in her pugs and birds to take much interest 
in her own species. She observed nothing unusual in Dul- 
cie's manner, and never dreamed, simple-minded lady, of 
the very dramatic circumstances in which her niece was 
placed. 


• ONCE AGAIN. 


167 


Every day, winter and summer, if the weather was at all 
passable, Mrs. John Vernon took her drive with her pugs. 
She invited Dulcie to accompany her this afternoon, but 
Dulcie excused herself, and her aunt did not press the 
matter: the pugs would be more comfortable and less- 
cramped. 

The carriage came round, with its fat horses and sleek 
coachman, the perfect type of a wealthy widow^s equipage,, 
and Dulcie saw aunt and pets depart. She remained for 
some time at the window, looking out at the sea, thinking 
to herself that she was the most unfortunate girl in the^ 
world, and wondering what the end of all. this dreadful 
business was to be. As she sat there, the sea faded from 
her eyes; the sound of the waves ceas^ from her ears: sha 
was back in the bower at the ball, with Alwyne’s arm round 
her, his voice breathing sweet words which troubled her 
brain and senses. 

She started as the door was flung open, and the butler, 
with a beaming face, announced ‘ ‘ Mr. Temple. 

He was an old servant, and of a benevolent disposition ; 
he saw, or fancied he saw, why Miss Dulcie had declined to 
drive, and thought he was indeed doing something ex- 
tremely pleasing to her by ushering in this handsome young 
gentleman. 

Alwyne had looked in a Brighton directory, and, finding 
the name of Mrs. John Vernon, had concluded she must be 
the aunt whom Dulcie was visiting. He had no idea of 
what he meant to say if he saw her; he did not know that 
he would even see her, much less see her alone; and when 
he found himself face to face with her he was almost as 
much embarrassed as she was. Both commanded them- 
selves sufiiciently ere the door closed on the butler to ex- 
change the ordinary, commonplace greeting in the ordinary 
manner, but after that there was a pause. Dulcie stood 
looking down, Alwyne went to the window. Two feelings 
were struggling in him, delight at seeing his beloved again, 
and an aggrieved sense that he had been badly used. ' The 
latter obtaining the mastery, he turned, and coming toward 
her, said, in a reproachful tone — 

Why did you deceive me.^^^ 

Dulcie proceeded to defend herself. Her nature was de- 
ficient in generosity and in a sense of justice: like all weak 
persons, she was wont to defend herself at the expense of 


108 


OXCE AGAIN. 


some one else. On this occasion, poor Noel, against whom 
her mind was entirely poisoned, was the scapegoat. She 
depicted him as a villain and seducer of the deepest dye; 
she proved clearly to Alwyne^s thirsting ears how entirely 
innocent she had been throughout — an unhappy dupe in 
the hands of a designing man. And Dulcie related with 
triumph the interview of the morning in which she had 
poured her hatred and contempt upon him — described the 
scene with glistening eyes and raised voice, as though she 
' had been some brave and virtuous heroine bearding an un- 
scrupulous villain. 

Alwyne forgot the wrong this fair creature had done him 
as he sat listening to her, drinking in with rapture the 
story of the discomfiture of his rival, and filled with a sort 
of heroic ardor of championship and a great but vague idea 
that he was going to be her deliverer, though at the present 
moment he could not quite see how. 

“We must do something to rid you of this ruffian he 
said, excitedly, getting up and pacing the room. 

“ I will be grateful to you forever, cried Dulcie. “ Oh, 
you donH know how he frightened me this morning with 
his violence. He said I was his wife and he could take me 
away then and there if he chose and no one could hinder 
him!^^ 

Alwyne swore under his breath. This was indeed an 
awful contingency. No man, he said, hotly, could be 
blackguard enough to force a woman who hated hi m to live 
with him. 

“ I will kill myself first cried Dulcie, excitedly. 

“ No, darling!"’' replied Alwyne, soothingly: “ you must 
not talk like that. I will move heaven and earth to free 
you from him. Surely there must be a way out of it. I 
believe myself it was a bogus marriage. But remember 
one thing: if he should attempt to carry you off by force, 
you must escape and come straight to me, and we will see 
then," cried Alwyne, looking very handsome and deter- 
mined, “ whether any mortal power can get you away from 
me!" 

For a long time they talked eagerly over all sorts of pos- 
sibilities and contingencies. Alwyne declared that he 
would go up to London and consult his solicitor, and be- 
tween them they would assuredly find some means to free 
lier from this hateful bond. He talked both liimself and 


OXCE AGAIN. 


169 


Dulcie into quite a cheerful frame of mind, and when he 
took leave of her, both their hearts beat high with hope. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Mks. Vernon, after her two interviews, was in a state 
of irritation against her daughter that she could scarcely 
control. She recognized the fact that to contend with this 
seemingly weak girl was like buffeting water. Xow she 
had but one desire, and that was to marry her to Xoel; for 
to go on living under the same roof with her on amicable 
terms was more than Mrs. Vernon felt capable of. She 
could not watch and dog her every step and movement; 
and duplicity now seemed like second nature to Dulcie. 
The mother had not patience to fight against the weapon 
she so abhorred and despised. Besides, Dulcie was NoeTs 
wife, and could not be unmarried: so the sooner he carried 
off his prize the better. And in her heart Mrs. Vernon 
bitterly wished him joy of her. 

After a great deal of reflection, she decided to go down 
the next day to Brighton and bring Dulcie back. She did 
not intend to have any discussion with her if it could be 
avoided, but as soon as convenient after their return she 
would send for Noel, bring the young couple face to face, 
and let them settle matters themselves. As for Dulcie^s 
reluctance, she cared not one straw: she had married him, 
and must abide by the consequences. 

The day after her two interviews, Mrs. Vernon betook 
herself to Brighton by the one-fifty train, which should 
have arrived at three-fifteen, but was twenty minutes late. 
Her sister-in-law would think it odd her coming to fetch 
Dulcie after a stay of twenty-four hours; but there were 
much graver considerations involved than Mrs. John Ver- 
non’s surprise. 

The fly which conveyed her from the station had arrived 
within half a dozen doors of her sister-in-law’s house, when 
a young man came running down the steps with an excited 
and triumphant expression of countenance, and Mrs. Ver- 
non was almost transfixed with anger and astonishment as 
she recognized Alwyne. He did not see her, but went on 
his way rejoicing. 

What can I do with suph a creature!” cried the dis- 


170 


OXCE AG A IK. 


tracted mother, between her teeth, feeling a violent desire 
to fly at and beat this hopelessly good-for-nothing daughter 
of hers. 

She had to control herself by an immense effort to meet 
the smiling butler, an old servant in the family, with an 
answering smile, to inquire after Mrs. John, and whether 
Miss Dulcie was at home. 

And then she was ushered into the drawing-room, where 
the dear girl was nursing all sorts of charming dreams. 

The mother could scarcely control her voice to speak. 
She did not intend to have any discussion now; if once she 
let loose the flood-gates of her wrath, she felt that she 
would hardly be answerable for her words or actions. She 
glacially bade Dulcie go at once and see to her things 
being packed, as they were to return to London by the five 
o’clock train. Dulcie divined that some dreadful catastro- 
phe had happened, and was only too glad to escape from 
the room and assist her aunt’s maid, who plied her with 
many expressions of wonder and regret at her short stay, 
to pack. Mrs. Vernon sat in the drawing-room, staring at 
the sea, with a horrible weight at her heart — a weight of 
iinger and despair. She was a clever woman : as a rule, 
she had no difficulty in circumventing people, and making 
those at all events over whom she had any authority do 
what she pleased; but this frail, foolish girl utterly baffled 
her and set her plans at naught. What had Alvvyne been 
doing there? She, of course, imagined that Dulcie had in- 
formed him of her whereabouts. From the satisfied ex- 
pression of his face, the interview with Dulcie must have 
been a pleasing one : possibly she had consented to fly with 
him. 

The unhappy mother determined to send for Noel . the 
very next morning and to fix the earliest date possible for 
the marriage in church; it would not have required much 
persuasion on Noel’s part now to get her consent to carry 
off Dulcie with no further ceremony than the one which 
had already been performed in the registry office. 

As good fortune would have it, Mrs. John did not return 
from her drive before it was time for her guests to leave; 
-so, bidding the butler make her excuses, and promising to 
write, Mrs. Vernon carried her daughter off to London. 

^he did not speak one word during the' journey; indeed, 
words would have choked her. It was no use asking for 


OKCE AGAIIT. 


171 


explanations; she would only be met by falsehood. Afc 
dinner, and during the evening, not one- word was ex- 
changed between mother and daughter; each talked in 
turn to Mrs. Leslie; and she, though devoured by curiosity 
. to know what had happened, feigned not to remark any- 
thing unusual, and chatted away gayly. She knew it was 
hopeless to expect a communication from Mrs. Vernon, but 
she hoped to extract some explanation from gentle and 
pliable Dulcie. When they were alone for a moment she 
cried — 

“ My dear child, what is all this terrible mystery about?'’^ 

But Dulcie, with an uneasy smile, declared that it was 
nothing — nothing at all — and would not be beguiled into a 
word of confidence. She distrusted every one but Alwyne. 

As for Morton, she was on tenter-hooks, and did not fail 
to ask her young lady point-blank what was going on, and 
why Mr. Trevor and Mr. Temple had both been to see her 
mamma; but Dulcie obstinately refused to answer her, and 
Morton was in high dudgeon. 

After dinner Mrs. Vernon wrote a note to Noel request- 
ing him to call the following morning. His first impulse 
on reading it was to excuse himself; but on second thoughts 
he decided that he owed it to Mrs. Vernon to explain why 
he was going away without claiming his wife, lest she 
should conceive an unjust idea of him and his motives. 
He would not have risked seeing Dulcie again, but he be- 
lieved her to be at Brighton, which he had left almost im- 
mediately after their painful interview. 

Mrs. Vernon had given private orders to the butler that 
when Mr. Trevor arrived he was to be ushered into the 
drawing-room, and she was to be told that some one wished 
to see her; no name was to be mentioned before the other 
ladies. She anticipated the possibility of Dulcie ^s flying to 
her room and locking herself in if she became aware that 
Noel was in the house. 

When Noel arrived and Mrs. Vernon went to the draw- 
ing-room to receive him, her feelings were of quite a differ- 
ent nature from any she could have entertained for him a 
week previously. She rather wished to propitiate him; in- 
stead of the anger and contempt she had felt for him, she 
was now disposed to regard him with a certain amount of 
respect, and was almost afraid of his learning her daugh- 


172 


ONCE AGAIN. 


ter’s shortcomings, lest he should be less ready to accept 
the serious responsibility of taking charge of her. 

To-day, as she advanced to meet him, her manner was 
by many degrees more cordial; she even offered him her 
hand. She was shocked to see how ill he looked and to re- 
mark the melancholy written in every line of his wan face. 
She was even a little sorry for him. She did not like the 
hopeless expression that he wore; it augured ill for her 
plans and wishes. But she feigned not to remark any- 
thing, and said, in a cheerful voice, 

‘‘I think we had better settle about your marriage as 
soon as possible. This state of things is very unsatisfac- 
tory.’^ 

if she expected a brightening of Noel’s face and an ar- 
dent assent to her words, she must have been disappointed. 
If possible, a deeper gloom spread itself over his face, and 
he looked persistently at the carpet. 

“ You do not seem very anxious,” exclaimed Mrs. Ver- 
non, a flush rising to her face and a considerable tartness 
lending itself to her voice. 

He looked up at her. 

“ Ho you know that I have seen — your daughter?” he 

‘‘ Seen her? How? When? Where?” cried Mrs. Vernon. 
Yesterday morning, at Brighton. I went there in the 
hope of seeing her, and I met her out walking, and — and — ” 
And what?” 

“ She said ” — and poor Noel’s voice faltered — that she 
hated me, and Avould rather kill herself than be my wife. 
And, oh, my God!” cried the poor lad, “ she said she 
loved Mm /” 

He buried his face in his hands, and tears oozed through 
his thin fingers. Mrs. Vernon wondered to herself how 
much exasperation it was possible to endure without apo- 
plexy supervening. She did not believe that, in the record 
of mothers and daughters, mother had ever been so tried 
as she. Was tliis girl utterly devoid of all sense — of all 
decency? 

Her manner to Koel softened considerably. She almost 
lelt like a shopwoman offering damaged goods which she 
was anxious to get rid of. 

“ But,” she said, after a pause, “ that is nonsense. You 
are her husband, and she must, accept the fate she herself 


ONCE AGAIN. 


173 


chose. Nothing can annul the marriage, and she must 
make the best of it; indeed, I hope, when she sees more of 
you, her affection will return, and that all will be well!’^ 

She was trying to bolster up her own hopes as well as 
NoeFs, but all the time a disagreeabe presentiment seized 
her that neither he nor she would be able to cope with 
I)ulcie. She almost regretted that he was not somewhat 
of the villain she had imagined him; for then he would 
have carried things with a strong hand. 

I love her with all my heart, groaned Noel, and 
she did love me, or else why — And here he stopped 
short. Then, with a sudden inspiration, he looked up at 
Mrs. Vernon, and asked, “ Has she known this man long? 
Where did she meet him, and when did — But he could 
not bring his voice to finish the sentence. 

A half-frightened recollection of her own share in the 
catastrophe rushed through Mrs. Vernon ^s brain. She re- 
membered that it was she who had given Dulcie to under- 
stand that her marriage was not legal, and that it was in 
consequence of this representation that the girl had con- 
sidered herself free to accept Alwyne’s attentions. 

But for the moment she felt it impossible to confess this 
to Noel. 

We met him at Nice,^^ she answered, with some hesi- 
tation. He is the nephew of an old school-friend of 
mine, with whom we were traveling.’’^ 

And this,^^ cried poor Noel, “ must have been not a 
month after our marriage 

You must remember,^ ^ pleaded Mrs. Vernon, that 
she had heard nothing of you — that she did not even know 
if the marriage was legal. 

Noel interrupted her with hashing eyes. 

I will never believe, he cried, ‘‘ that she w'ould have 
doubted me, unless some one had influenced her against 
me.^^ 

There was a moments silence, during which Mrs. Ver- 
non was fighting a severe battle with herself. She j^os- 
sessed in a marked degree the truthful and honorable in- 
stincts which, as a rule, the sterner sex are exclusively 
credited with, but which may yet be found in many women, 
while they are absent from many men. 

She abhorred lying and deceit, and she was naturally a 
fearless and courageous woman; indeed, from the inde- 


174 


ONCE AGAIN. 


pendent life she had so long led, she had been unaccus- 
tomed to fear anything or any one. She was proud, and 
nothing could gall her so much as to be proved to have 
acted unworthily. It was less difficult to her to confess 
herself wrong than to bear to be accused by another person. 

For a moment it was a hard fight; then the honorable 
instinct prevailed. 

I will be quite straightforward with you, she said, 
and her voice involuntarily assumed a haughty accent, 
‘MVhen my daughter returned home on the day of the 
accident, and I learned the truth, I did -not for a moment 
believe the marriage to be binding, and I told her so. And 
when, later, I learned that it was, I did not undeceive her, 
thinking she might commit some fresh imprudence. And, 
besides, hesitating, for it was hardly a pleasant thing ta 
say, ‘‘ you were in such a critical condition that it was not 
supposed you would recover. In which case,^-’ with some 
confusion, ‘‘ there would have been no occasion for any one 
to know anything more of the matter. 

Noel saw it all now, and, with the impulse of a lover, 
immediately shifted the blame from the shoulders of Fulcie 
to those of her mother. It was clear to him he had been 
maligned, traduced, blackened to his darling; she had been 
made to doubt and hate him, to believe him capable of un- 
S23eakable villainy. 

After a pause he said, in a voice of righteous indignation, 

* ‘ Then it was you who set her against me and paved the 
way for another man. 

Mrs. Vernon was exceedingly human, and had a con^ 
siderable temper. After making an enormous sacrifice of 
feehng to behave fahly and honorably, to be met with this 
accusation, and to see that Noel held her responsible for all 
that had occurred, was more than she could bear, and she 
struck out sharply in return. 

You see,^'’ she said, in the quiet voice which those who 
knew her best most feared, ‘‘ I could hardly imagine that, 
after being so much devoted to you and ready to sacrifice 
everything for your sake, my daughter would, a couple of 
months later, be equally well disposed to receive the atten- 
tions of another man. However,^^ changing her tone 
abruptly, the moment that I perceived what was going 
on, I told Dulcie that she was your wife, and forbade Mr, 
Temple to see her again. 


OKCE AGAIK". 175 

And did you tell him the triith:’^ cried Koel, rather in 
the tone of a Grand Inquisitor. 

No/^ replied Mrs. Vernon, striking out again. I 
am not given to publisliing disgraceful family secrets. 

Disgraceful!^^ cried Noel. 

Yes,^’’ returned Mrs. Vernon, calmly, with an unflinch- 
ing regard, “ disgraceful 

Noel subsided. He knew he^ had done wrong, and he 
was not of a temperament to brazen it out. His head sunk 
again, and he resumed his scrutiny of the carpet. 

Having got the best of him Mrs. Vernon was disposed to 
be merciful. 

Kecriminations, ” she said, ‘‘are never of any use. 
Let us be practical, and consider the best way out of the 
dilemma. I will send for Dulcie and will tell her in your 
presence that there is only one thing for her to do, which 
is to submit to the inevitable. 

“ No! no!’^ cried Noel. “ How can I take her against 
her will?” 

“ Then may I ask what you propose?” inquired Mrs. 
Vernon, impatiently. 

“ I am going to try to get out to my regiment in India. 
And then,'” with a profound sigh, “ I shall never trouble 
her again. 

This magnanimous suggestion was very far from meeting 
with Mrs. Vernon^s approval. 

“ A delightful position, truly, for my daughter!” she ex- 
claimed. “A wife without a husband! No! I will not 
bear the responsibility of her, and I shall not permit you to 
shirk yours. If you go to India she must accompany you. ” 

“ Is it my fault?” cried Noel, in accents of deepest re- 
proach. “ Would I not give my right hand to win back 
the affection she felt for me last winter? I love her with 
all my soul; do you think I want to go away and leave 
her— to him?” 

“ If you leave her it probably will be to him,” replied 
Mrs. Vernon, tartly. Pray, Mr. Trevor, be a man ; 
make use of . your authority; it is perfectly impossible for 
things to go on in this way. I shall now send for Dulcie. 
You must insist on your rights, and I shall support you.” 
Before he could say a w^ord she had rung the bell. 

“ Ask Miss Dulcie to come to me for a moment,” she 
said, blandly, to the butler. 


OKCE AGAI]^» 


17Cj 

A minute later Dulcie, all unsuspecting, obeyed the 
summons. 

When she caught sight of Noel she turned ashen pale 
and trembled in every limb. He rose to meet her, but she 
did not even greet him by so much as a word. He threw 
an agonized glance at her mother which said, plainly, 
‘‘ You see.'^ 

Hulcie,^^ said Mrs. Vernon, gently, I have sent for 
you that we may talk matters over. Last winter, of your 
own free will and consent, you walked out of my house to 
marry Mr. Trevor. By the consequences of that step you 
must abide. You are his wfe, and nothing can alter the 
fact. The law is on his side, and, if he chooses, he can 
compel you to hve with him; and I am not disposed to 
deny his position. If you were so much attached to him a 
few months ago there is surely no ground for your altered 
feelings now, as he has done nothing to wound or gffend 
you. Indeed, the severe suffering he has undergone ought 
to give him a greater claim on your sympathy and affection. 
I hope that when you have talked the matter over together 
you will recognize what your duty is. Tinder the circum- 
stances, I shall not feel justified in keeping you from your 
husband, and you must not regard this as your home in the 
future.'’'’ 

Dulcie remained with downcast eyes. She did not speak 
a word in answer, but sat with a fixed, dogged expression 
in her face which augured ill for Noel. 

After waiting to give her an opportunity of speaking, 
Mrs. Vernon rose and went to the door. 

“ I will leave you for a little,'’^ she said to Noel. ‘‘ I hope 
you will be able to persuade her. 

The two young people, left alone together, remained 
speechless. Dulcie preserved her obstinate expression, and 
Noel gazed wistfully at her, longing yet not daring to ap- 
proach her, to take her in his arms, to implore her love, 
her pity, her forgiveness even, though he had committed 
no crime against her. 

At last he said, in a broken voice — 

Dulcie, woiiT you speak to me? You used to love 
me; and what in Heaven^s name have I done that you 
should be so changed?^’ 

Still that dogged, obstinate silence which is more trying 
than the fiercest Invectives and recriminations. 


OKCE AGAIX. 


• 177 


Dulcie!'^ and he moved diffidently nearer to her, 
“ won^t you speak to me?"" 

Still silence. 

He tried to take her liand^, but she dragged it away from 
him. 

l)id I not tell you at Brighton,"" she cried, roused at 
last, ‘‘ what I felfc for you? And yet you come here again 
to persecute and torment me, and to set mamma more 
against me and make her behave worse to me than she has 
done already!"" 

I never meant to have seen you again,"" returned Noel. 

‘ ^ 1 was going to India — I had begun to make arrange- 
ments about it — but your mother wrote and asked me to 
come. I thought you were still at Brighton. But, now I 
am here, let me plead with you once again. You are not 
very happy at home; you and your mother are not on good 
terms; why — why will you not come with me? Oh, dar- 
ling! I will devote every hour of my life to making you 
happy; I will be your slave; you shall not have a wish un- 
gratified if I can help it. Oulcie, my own wife! won"t you 
come to me?"" 

All the passion of which ho was capable was expressed in 
his voice, but she only shrunk from him with a gesture of 
distaste and disgust. 

I hate you,"" she said, cruelly; “and if you take me 
away by force I will kill myself. What pleasure can it 
be,"" and she began to whimjDor, “ to persecute and tor- 
ment a woman who does not care for you? If I were a 
man I should have too much pride."" 

“ But since you are my wife? — since I have the right to 
take you?"" he answered, his voice hardening for a mo- 
ment, and a look that frightened her coming into his eyes. 

She burst into sobs. 

“ Then I will kill myself!"" she repeated. 

Dulcie was the last girl in the world to carry out such a 
threat — she was far too great a coward — but she thought it 
a good way of intimidating him. 

He sat down again, hid liis face in his hands, and 
groaned. 

What was he to do? Why had he come here to fight the 
battle over again? He had gone through all this misery 
yesterday and had made up his mind about the future, and 
now he had been compelled to a futile repetition of his 


378 


Oi^CE AC4AIX. 


wretchedness. ' Some men might take pleasure in forcing 
themselves on a reluctant woman; her terror and repug- 
nance might have lent piquancy to the situation in their 
eyes. 

But Noel was not one of these. 


CHAPTER XXL 

Dulcie was buoying herself up with the hopes which Al- 
wyne had inspired in her.^ He was going to his lawyer; he 
would leave no stone unturned to find a way of annulling 
and making void this marriage, and then he would marry 
her and their life was to be one of ideal bliss. With this 
thought firmly rooted in her head, Dulcie was scarcely like- 
ly to turn anything but a deaf ear to NoePs pleadings. He 
was her foe; Alwyne her knight and deliverer. Her moth- 
er was equally her enemy, trying merely out of spite to 
force her into the arms of a man she hated. It suited her 
mother ^s purpose now to declare the marriage irrevocable, 
but Dulcie did not believe it. 

Suddenly it occurred to her that her best plan would be 
to propitiate Noel. 

“Why should you want to make me miserable?” she 
said, raising her tearful eyes to his face. “It is not my 
fault that I no longer care for you. I suppose I did once, 
but that is all orer now. I was told you had deceived me, 
and that it was not a real marriage, and then I got to hate 
you. It is no good blaming me; it is not my fault.” 

Once more the bitterness as of death crept through 
NoePs heart; once more he roused himself to a supreme 
effort. 

“ Say no more!” he cried, hoarsely; then, rising and go- 
ing toward the door, “ I shall never trouble you again.” 
He paused a moment, as though he would have taken some 
farewell of her; then, changing his mind, he went out. 

A few minutes later, Mrs. Vernon returned to the draw- 
ing-room to see how matters were progressing. She found 
Dulcie alone, looking out of the window. 

“ Well,” she asked, sharply, “ where is Mr. Trevor?” 

“ Grone,” replied Dulcie, with a sullen air. 

“ And what have you settled?” inquired her mother. 

'Dulcie did not answer, and it was only after innumerable 


ONCE AGAIN. 


179 

questions that Mrs. Vernon elicited what had happened. 
Then the flood-gates of her wrath were let loose, and she 
talked to Diilcie in a manner Avhich succeeded in frighten- 
ing that obstinate young lady. She declared that the same 
roof should no longer cover them; that if she disgraced her 
she would cast her off and never see or speak to her again; 
she threatened her with all sorts of terrors. At last, fright- 
ened herself at the violence of her feelings and words, she 
rushed from thd'room and locked herself in her own room, 
a prey to the strongest emotion she had ever felt. 

She was no match for this weak, obstinate girl. What 
was she to do with her? Plan after plan chased itself 
through her mind. She thoug h^ of sending her to some 
school, where she would be placST under the strictest sur- 
veillance, and where she could neither write to nor receive 
letters from Alwyne. Then she reflected that by too harsh 
treatment she might drive Pulcie to the very disgrace she 
so greatly feared. She resolved to consult Mr. Benson, and 
ordered the brougham. Driving straight to his chambers, 
she poured out the whole dreadful story to him. He was 
amazed and shocked, and seriously concerned to see his 
usually self-possesed client a prey to such violent emotion. 

He w'as unable to suggest anything. If the youn^ man 
himself would not assert his privileges and compel his wife 
to live with him, he thought there was nothing to be done 
in the matter but to trust to time and to the young lady^s 
coming to her senses. He could not for a moment enter- 
tain the shocking, possibility of so well-brought-up a girl 
eloping with Mr. Temple if she were made cognizant of 
the terrible and disastrous consequences of such a step. 

Excellent Mr. Benson, with his calm judicial ideas and 
words, gave no comfort to the distracted mother in her 
present frame of mind, and on leaving him she flung her- 
self back in her brougham in a state bordering between in- 
tense irritation and despair. Eor once the self-contained 
woman felt the absolute necessity of a confidante, and she 
resolved to tell Mrs. Leslie the truth. On her return she 
sent at once for her cousin, and, after first making h 
swear secrecy upon the Bible, she proceeded, to her ow’' 
tense relief, to pour out the whole dreadful story to ’ 
cited and deeply interested relative. 

feel,^^ said Mrs. Vernon, in conclup’ 
perated against Dulcie that it is impossib’ 


ISO 


ONCE AGAIN. 


living ill the same house 'with her — at all events for the 
present. AVhen I remember/ ^ and unwonted tears sprimg 
to lier eyes, how carefully I have brought her up, how I 
have guarded and watched over her, it is more than I can 
bear to think of the disgrace she has brought upon me. It 
must come out sooner or later; I have no doubt the serv- 
ants already know everything, for 1 do not place the small- 
est faith in Morton^s discretion; and, even if she were to be 
trusted, they must see that something extraordinary is go- 
ing on.""^ 

Mrs. Leslie was a very good-natured woman, and felt 
sincerely sorry for her cousin. 

‘‘ Is there anything I can do to help you?^^ she cried, 
eagerly. “ Shall I take Dulcie home with me for a few 
weeks: I promise you Mr. Temple shall not get a chance 
of seeing her. 

Mrs. Vernon seized eagerly upon her otfer. 

“Yes, yes; I should be most grateful to you. Anything 
to get her awaj^ from my sight for the present. But may I 
really trust your’^ she asked, recollecting herself. “ I 
know, my dear, that you are very good-natured and rather 
weak. If Dulcie persuaded you — 

“No, no. I assure you you may trust me,^’ protested 
Mrs. Leslie, eagerly. “ I will be a perfect dragon. When 
shall we go? the day after to-morrow? I must give them a 
day to prepare. I will telegraph at once. 

Dulcie was delighted when she heard that she was to be 
handed over to Mrs. Leslie. She was quite as anxious to 
get away from her mother as her mother was to be rid of 
her, and in her heart she felt sure that she would get her 
own way with her cousin, and be able to correspond with 
Alwyne, if not to see him. 

Two days later they were on their way to Mrs. Leslie^s 
pretty little country-house. Mother and daughter had not 
exchanged a single word in the meantime, nor did they 
^ven bid each other good-bye. Mrs. Vernon •’s exasperation 

s so deep that she could not bring herself to look at or 
' to Dulcie, and when she was once fairly out of the 
" mother felt as though a great load were lifted 
'•ft. Bitter indeed was it to feel the love and 
'ss of so many years requited by defiance 
ne can scarcely wonder if for the time 


ONCE AGAIN. 181 

the mother^s natural affection gave way to a feeling very 
nearly akin to dislike. 

Now it was Dulcie^s turn to tell her story to Mrs. Leslie, 
and that kindly disposed lady was a little shocked to find 
herself sympathizing in turn with the girl and looking upon 
lier somewhat in the light of a heroine of romancov Not, 
she gave her clearly to understand, that she meant to allow 
any interviews with Mr. Temple; besides, she could not im- 
agine, she said, that Dulcie would wish to do anything so 
wrong as to receive unlawful and compromising attentions. 
But Dulcie soon talked her into the belief that her mar- 
riage with Noel was, through Alwyne^s influence, speedily 
to be made null and void. And then — Why, of course, 
then, Mrs. Leslie assented, it would be a different matter 
altogether. 

The first thing Dulcie did was, unknown to her cousin, 
to write and furnish Alvvyne with her address, together with 
the details of her’mother’s violence and the discomfiture of 
Noel. She was exceedingly anxious, too, to hear the result 
of his visit to his lawyer. Alwyne, meantime, was in a 
state of great perplexity and distress. He had driven with 
a confident heart to his lawyer-’s chambers, but had issued 
thence crest-fallen and despairing. For, after hearing all 
that Alwyne could tell him, the man of law decided that 
the marriage was legal and binding, in spite of certain ir- 
regularities, and that Noel had only to satisfy the court of 
chancery on the subject of the young lady^s fortune, after 
which he could carry her off as soon as he pleased. And 
then the lawyer gave him a significant hint about the dan- 
ger of tampering with a ward in chancery. 

Alwyne fumed and fretted himself nearly into a fever. 
This self-willed young man could not endure to be thwart- 
ed, and told himself that he loved Dulcie passionately, 
madly, and that without her he could not live. His one 
desire now was to see her; so, when he received her letter, 
he wrote off by return of j)Ost imploring her to manage an 
interview somehow or other, and promising to tell her all 
that he had done in the meantime.. The all did not 
amount to much, unless he had reckoned up the ragings 
and cursings which formed a considerable item in his day^s 
employment. Dulcie, he vowed to himself, must and 
should be his. His intentions were strictly honorable: 
what did he ask better than to make her his wife? but. 


182 


OKCE A GAIK. 


since Fate would not allow that, why, then — but he did not 
permit himself to dwell on the alternative. 

Dulcie now began to cast about in her mind how the 
meeting was to be effected. She had become so versed in 
duplicity that she no longer had any scruples; indeed, she 
argued to herself that she had been driven to it by her 
mother’s harsh and unkind treatment. 

Mrs. Leslie had accepted an invitation for them both the 
week following to a smart garden-party four miles distant, 
and was looking forward to it with some little excitement. 
This would be Lulcie’s opportunity. She would feign ill- 
ness on the day, having previously apprised Alwyne of her 
intention, only cautioning him not to come unless it should 
be a thoroughly clear day. 

Meantime, she behaved in so exemplary a way that Mrs. 
Leslie’s fears were set at rest, and she wrote most encour- 
aging letters to Mrs. Vernon. Dulcie, she said, seemed 
extremely happy in the country — was very amiable and 
cheerful, and gave her no trouble or anxiety whatever. She 
appeared quite reconciled to her fate, now she was no longer 
in fear of being claimed by Mr. Trevor. The day of the 
garden-party arrived. When Dulcie came down to break- 
fast, she complained of a slight headache, but made light 
of it, and declared that a turn in the garden would no 
doubt put her right. As the morning wore on, however, 
she became gradually worse, and by lunch-time she had 
retired to bed, pulled down the blinds, and answered Mrs. 
Leslie’s tender inquiries in a faint and languid voice. She 
was repeating her little ruse at Nice with perfect success. 

This sudden illness was a severe blow to Mrs. Leslie, who 
had been looking forward to chaperoning her pretty and 
elegant cousin at the party. The day, too, was lovely — 
everything that could be desired. 

Mrs. Leslie proposed staying at home to nurse Dulcie, 
but of this she would not hear, averring that it was simply 
one of the ordinary headaches to which she was at times 
subject, and that the only remedy was complete quiet. So 
at four o’clock Mrs. Leslie drove off in her pony-carriage 
rather sad and disconsolate. No sooner had the sound of 
wheels died away than Dulcie sprung up, put on her pret- 
tiest frock, recurled her fringe, and, going down-stairs, 
placed herself at the drawing-room window, which com- 
manded a view of visitors arriving. Twenty minutes later. 


ON-CE AGAIK’. 


183 


she beheld Alwyne coming up the drive, and flew to open 
the door for him. If his visit could be made without the 
knowledge of the servants, whose offices were all at the 
hack of the house, so much the better. 

A minute later he was in the drawing-room, and she was 
in his arms. To do Dulcie justice, she really felt that she 
belonged to Alwyne, and looked upon herself as engaged to 
him. Her real husband she regarded as a disagreeable 
detail which she did her best to forget. 

Some considerable time was spent in expressions of de- 
light at meeting, and in Dulcie^s description of the firmness 
by which she had baffled her mother and routed Noel; then 
suddenly she stopped, and, looking eagerly in Alwyne^s face, 
•cried — 

What does your lawyer say?’^ 

This was the moment that Alwyne had dreaded. Evad- 
ing a direct answer, he renewed his impassioned protesta- 
tions with increased fervor; but Dulcie, bent on hearing 
the answer for which she hoped, put them aside, and re- 
peated her question earnestly. 

Alwyne hesitated. He could not tell her a lie on the 
subject, and yet, with any shadow of truth, he could not 
bid her hope. 

Dulcie trembled. 

Do you mean to say,^' she whispered, with white Iqis 
and a terrified look, “ that nothing can be done?'^ 

“Nothing, I am afraid, replied Alwyne, gloomily, 
“ short of his knocking you down and running away with 
another woman. ^ ^ Then, seating himself beside her and 
taking her hand, he began again hotly to protest his love. 
He urged all those arguments common to young men when 
passion gets the better of honor; he talked the specious 
nonsense about marriages unblessed by the Church but sa- 
cred in the sight of God, which has befooled silly women 
to their undoing; he vowed eternal fidelity; he pictured a 
Paradise in foreign lands of which they were to be the Adam 
and Eve; he did and said everything, in fact, that he 
could think of to persuade Dulcie to run away with him. 
But Dulcie^s heart had turned to stone within her. She 
was not of those who think the world well lost for lovers 
sake : she understood quite enough of such matters to re- 
alize the fate of a woman who commits the error that Al- 
wyne would have had her commit, and she was the last girl 


184 


ONCE AGAIN. 


in the world to sacrifice herself in such a manner. She 
loved Alwyne to the best of her poor ability, but the man 
did not exist for whom she could bear scorn and contume- 
ly. All the imprudences she had been guilty of had been 
committed in the belief that she was to be Alwyne’s wife; 
never for one instant had the thought of being his mistress 
crossed her brain. Now despair overcame her; she sat and 
wept helplessly; whilst he was at his wits^ end to console 
her. She scarcely heard his impassioned words; a dull 
grievous sense that all was at an end between them over- 
whelmed her. From henceforth she was widowed and hope- 
less; she would not be NoeFs wife, she could not be Al- 
wyne '’s. 

Alwyne had not said to himself in so many words that he 
intended to play the villain; he only declared that he could 
not live without her; and now he was trying to gloss over 
the wrong and to persuade her that their manifest duty was 
to live for each other. He did not really anticipate a very 
hard task in persuading Hulcie, and he quite meant to con- 
sider her his wife to the end of their natural lives. But he 
painted his charming pictures to dull ears. Hulcie kept on 
thinking and realizing, as he talked, of the agonizing loss 
she had sustained, but was not moved for one instant to 
any thought of consenting. 

And, just when Alwyne felt that his passionate pleading 
must conquer, she looked up at him, her eyes dim from 
much weeping, and said — 

“You must go now, and I shall never see you again. 

He sat staring as one stupefied: he did not believe for a 
moment that she seriously meant what she said. 

“ You are not in earnest!^^ he cried. 

“ I am,^^ she answered, between her sobs. “ I would 
have done anything, sacrificed anything, to be your wife, 
but you say it is impossible. If you really loved me, you 
— you would never think of anything else.'^^ 

Alwyne protested that he did love her; that it was be- 
cause he loved her he could not give her up; that if she 
loved him she would feel, as he did, that life apart was not 
to be borne. 

But here the obstinacy which had baffled Mrs. Vernon 
and Noel came in, to the confusion of Alwyne, and, though 
she wept piteously, she was not to be brought to make any 
concession. She could never love any one else; if ever the 


OXCE AGAIN-. 


185 


time came when she was free, she would be his, but only 
Ills lawfully and honorably. 

Then Alwyne lost his temper, and reproached her vio- 
lently, and cried too with rage and disappointment, and 
swore that she was sending him to the devil, and that he 
would go there with all possible expedition, and then per- 
liaps she would be sorry. 

As she remained unmoved by all this, excepting that slie 
continued to weep copiously, he at last rushed from the 
room and house, violently banging the door behind him, 
and frightening the servants, who up to this time had been 
unconscious of his presence in the house. 

By the time her cousin returned from the garden-party, 
Dulcie was really ill in bed from the eifects of her excite- 
ment. In the course of the evening Mrs. Leslie was in- 
formed that a gentleman had been to see Miss Vernon, and 
had left the house with a bang that nearly brought the 
house down. She was seriously alarmed: she had not be- 
lieved that Dulcie would deceive her; but now she realized 
that her staying at home was merely a ruse, and trembled 
lest Mrs. Vernon should discover how she had been out- 
witted. Well, it should not happen again: she only trusted 
that nothing serious would come of this. 

She went at once to Dulcie, who lay pale and inert, wdtli 
closed eyes. 

‘‘ Dulcie, she said, in a low voice, you have done 
very wrong to deceive me in this way. What am I to say 
to your mother if she finds it outr^^ 

The girFs tears fell afresh. 

‘‘ You need not be afraid,^' she answered, dolorously. 
‘‘ I shall never see him again. It is all over; and, oh! I 
am the most miserable girl alive V ’ 

Then Mrs. Leslie felt sorry for her, and pressed her hand 
kindly and besought her to relate what had happened. 
And Dulcie replied that there was no longer any hope of a 
divorce; but she was too proud and too cunning to reveal 
wLat more had passed between them on the subject. 

IS^ext day she received an imj^assioned letter from 
Alwyne, begging her forgiveness, yet declaring that he 
could not live without her. 

She put his letter in tlie grate, burned up every morsel 
with W'ax matches, and made no reply of any kind to it. 


186 


OXCE AGAI^r. 


After three days came his parting shaft. “ You never loved 
me. You will see to what you have driven me!^^ 

“ Good gracious cried Mrs. Leslie, a few mornings 
later, at breakfast, as she was looking over the “ Morning 
Post.^^ 

“ What?'’^ asked Dulcie, listlessly. 

Her cousin handed her the paper with a shocked look, 
and she read — 

‘‘We are authorized to announce that a marriage has 
been arranged, and will shortly take place, between Mr. 
Alwyne Temple, of Blank Court, Blankshire, and Lady 
Lucy Quickset,, second daughter of the Earl and Countess 
of Hedgerow. 

Dulcie^s hand trembled; her face was very white as she 
returned the paper to Mrs. Leslie. 

“ I suppose it is the best thing he could do,^^ she said,, 
trying to command her voice. 

Then she rose, left her unfinished breakfast, and went to 
her room. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

Heee I must exert the author^s privilege of putting back 
the clock and return for the moment to some of the other 
characters who have figured in these pages. 

We left Mrs. Chandos with a headache; Sir John Chester 
with a heart-ache, partially relieved for the moment by the 
unexpected kindness of his lady-love; Mrs. Herbert in the 
role of benevolent godmother, and Mrs. Pierpoint at her 
wits’ end to know wLat to do with her willful and turbu- 
lent-spirited brother; Mrs. Chester in sore distress of mind 
and full of fear of the wiles of the wicked siren, and Lilah 
irritable and peevish to the last degree at what she con- 
sidered every one’s neglect of her. 

When Mrs. Vernon and Dulcie left, and Jack took up 
his quarters at Cannes, her temper became unbearable, and 
at the end of a week she worried her mother until the poor 
lady was obliged to consent to taking her back to England. 
Lilah hated being abroad, she declared; she hated 
foreigners; she hated the hotel; she even hated the roses 
and the sunshine, and insisted that, instead of feeling bet- 
ter, she was much, much worse, and would very likely die 
if she were not restored at once to her dear home. 


OKCE AGAIN^. 


187 


Perhaps, in her secret heart, Mrs. Chester was not sorry 
for a pretext to get her sen away from the dangers and 
temptations which beset him, and when Lilah passionately 
and persistently demanded to be taken hack to England 
she wrote to Sir John to acquaint him with his sister's de- 
sire. 

The letter was a severe blow to Jack, who was basking 
in sunshine, both actual and metaphorical, at Cannes, and 
his first impulse was to feel angry with Lilah and even to 
rebel against having his pleasure curtailed by what he knew 
to be simply her caprice. Indeed, he had to fight a pretty 
stern battle with himself before his kind heart and thh 
recollection of his dead father's injunction triumphed over 
the inclination to refuse submission to her selfish and 
arbitrary will. But he did triumph, and, with a very sore 
heart, bade adieu to the two dear ladies at the Villa Blank. 
In ojie way he was almost as much attached to Mrs. Her- 
bert as to Reine. She had a wonderful art of making him 
appear to the best advantage; in her presence he was never 
tongue-tied, nor awkward, and Reine admitted that there 
was a great deal more in him than she had suspected. She 
rallied Mrs. Herbert on his devotion to her, and declared 
that they were so much in love with each other that it was 
positively embarrassing to be the third person; and Mrs. 
Herbert did not attempt to deny the impeachment, but 
merely declared that she would give anything to adopt him 
as her son, upon which Reine gibingly replied that Mia was 
making use of a very common subterfuge, only that, un- 
fortunately, it was such an Old and hackneyed one that it 
deceived no one. Mrs. Herbert smiled, and protested no 
more. 

When Jack took a sorrowful farewell of her, she promised 
to write to him, and bade him be sure to come to London 
and see her as soon as she returned there. And when, in 
the following April, she wrote to him announcing her 
arrival, he put himself in the train the very next day with 
. a joyful heart, and was whirled away to the big city. 

Mrs. Herbert received him with open arms; he had a 
delightful tete-a-tete dinner with her that very evening, 
and, during the three days of his sojourn, spent the greater 
part of the time in her company. 

Reine was in Paris, and likely to remain there for at 
least another month. Ca2:>taiii Bernard, she informed him 


188 


OJ^CE AGAIi^. 


with unfeigned pleasure, had at last succeeded in drinking^ 
himself to death, and, though she would not buoy Jack up 
with false hopes, she still encouraged him not to despair, 
and 2)romised to help him if he would yield implicitly to- 
iler guidance. 

Mrs. Herbert, who felt unequal to and disliked the 
trouble of having a large acquaintance, was an extremely 
stanch and loyal friend to those she liked and took an in- 
terest in. “ Friendship, she was wont to say, “is the 
great resource and pleasure of middle age : its ties, unlike 
those of love, are welcome and pleasant; they are elastic, 
and will stretch to any extent; it is impossible for them to 
gall. Friendship is' not like love, a sudden instinct that 
draws together two people who have nothing in common 
but passion; it must be founded on a similarity of tastes 
and ideas, on mutual affection and esteem. If my lover 
does an unworthy or a cruel action, I may hate the act, but 
be unable to refrain from loving him; if my friend com- 
mitted it, he would no longer be my friend, for my affec- 
tion could not blind me to his unworthiness, and, although 
I might still keep him as an acquaintance, his hold on my 
heart would be gone. But, unless my judgment had wan- 
dered very far astray, I should never have chosen for a 
friend one who was capable of wounding and outraging my 
susceptibilities. 

Mrs. Herbert, then, having admitted Jack to her friend- 
ship, was ready to do everything in her power to help him. 
She was convinced of the excellence of his heart and tem- 
per; his behavior to his mother and sister assured her of 
that, and his extreme fondness for and goodness to animals 
was a very strong link between him and his new friend. 
All the ideas which he expressed when they conversed inti- 
mately together were pleasing to her; he was open, straight- 
forward, honest, abhorred everything mean, cruel, or 
cowardly, was absolutely devoid of the cheap cynicism 
which many young men of the day think it smart to effect, 
either on the subject of women^s virtue or the general un- 
trustworthiness of the whole human race. He could be- 
lieve, admire, and love with a fresh and honest heart; and 
nothing would have induced Mrs. Herbert to air in his 
})resence any of the advanced views which she sometimes 
advocated in the presence of a sympathetic listener. 

“ People wlio believe everything are happy and envia- 


ONCE AGAIN. 


189 


ble/' she said. “ I think it a positive crime to attempt to 
take from any one a particle of faith, although in my own 
eyes it may seem to be only obsolete superstition. I would 
far rather see a slight lack of intelligence or disinclination 
to intellectual research in a young man than the brilliant 
talents which so often go to make an iconcolast of him.^^ 

And Jack never doubted for one instant that Mrs. Her- 
bert believed every word of the Bible from beginning to 
end, but imagined that she deplored as deeply as he did the 
malign influence of Henry Bertram, which had perverted 
the ideas of the purest and most innocent woman in the 
world. B[e was exceedingly discomposed one day, when 
seated in Mrs. Herbert’s drawing-room, by the butler 
throwing open the door, and announcing, “ Mr. Ber- 
tram. Jack had not been five minutes in the room : he 
could not therefore take his hat and go, but had to remain, 
and join in conversation with the dangerous atheist. Never 
liiid he received a greater shock of surprise than as he sat 
and listened to Mr. Bertram's conversation, it was so 
polished, so amusing, so thoroughly good-natured and 
tolerant on every subject that was mooted, so full of in- 
dulgence for the shortcomings of others. It happened that 
Mrs. Herbert brought up two topics of considerable interest 
which were then occupying the public mind, and she spoke 
with a great deal of energy and some fire in denouncing 
the wrong-doers; but Henry Bertram, whilst not palliating 
the crimes themselves, made such generous and intelligent 
allowance for possible circumstances and motives not ap- 
parent to those who only saw results, that he ended % 
persuading Mrs. Herbert and Jack, who had warmly sup- 
ported her, to take a more lenient view of the case. 

Little by little Jack felt his prejudice melting away, and 
when Bertram rose to take leave he found himself giving 
a hearty and cordial hand-shake to the man whom he had 
looked upon as the archenemy of every good and noble 
sentiment. 

Well,^^ said Mrs. Herbert, smiling, as the door closed 
upon him, looking up at Jack with a perfect comprehension 
of his change of feeling, ‘ ‘ and what do you think of the 
monster?’^ 

Jack looked, as he felt, puzzled. 

I never was so surprised in any one,"’^ he said, honest- 


190 


ONCE AGAIN. 


ly, after a moment’s i^aiise. To hear him talk, he 
seems such a good chap. If one did not know — ” 

‘‘ You have seen him to-day as he is always/’ said Mrs. 
Herbert. ‘‘He is the kindest-hearted, most charitable 
creature living. If he believed every syllable that is written 
in the Scriptures, he could not more thoroughly act up to 
the principles they inculcate.” 

“ I can’t understand it,” remarked Jack, perplexed, and 
scarcely liking to confess that he had always imagined un- 
believers to be wicked, immoral wretches, capable of com- 
mitting the blackest and most dastardly crimes, and to 
whom charity and generous impulses were unknown. 
“Was he always an — atheist?” 

“ On the contrary. His father was a bishop, and he was 
brought up most strictly. He declares that the intolerance 
and narrow-mindedness which he saw in his youth so re- 
volted all the generous instincts of his nature that the mo- 
ment he was able to emancipate himself he flung off the 
cloak of religion, and has, according to liis own account, 
been happy ever since.” 

“I don’t understand it,” repeated Jack, still puzzled. 
“ I don’t see how people can do right if they don’t believe 
in God.” 

“ Henry Bertram says,” returned Mrs. Herbert, “that 
he can not see why you want a God to teach you that it is 
wrong to lie and steal and oppress the helpless, when your 
own natural instincts tell it you so plainly. ‘ Do you 
think,’ he says, ‘ I would say to my boy, if I had one, 
“ Do not lie and steal and be cruel and injure others, be- 
cause God will damn you and send you to hell if you do?” 
^o! I should say, “Be honest, kind, truthful, just, that 
you may respect yourself and help your fellow-creatures 
and make them happier; that when you die you may have 
been of use in your generation, and have helped the world 
to progress toward a happier and more enlightened state; 
that whilst you live you may be ' able to hold up your head 
among your fellow-men; that you may keep your heart 
soft, and not be arrogant and bitter and hard to those who 
don’t think as you do.” ’ ” 

“AYell,” said Jack, ‘but is not that very much what 
Christianity teaches?” 

“ Yes,” answered Mrs. Herbert, “ what it ought to teach, 
and what it is supposed to teach; only with the love of God 


OKCE AGAIIS'. 


191 


for its motive. But just look at all the different sects and 
parties! ‘ !See how these Christians love each other {Still, 
for my own part, I can make allowance for a certain 
amount of bigotry and narrow-mindedness. If you are 
very much in earnest and believe honestly that there is; 
only, one way of being saved, you must nail your colors to 
the mast and stick to fixed principles. For the most part, 
tolerance means indifference. If you with all the energy 
of your heart and soul believe in a certain thing, you can 
not say, ‘ Perhaps it^s true and perhaps it isn’t: after all, 
it does not much matter. ’ ” 

Here another visitor was announced, and Jack took his 
leave without having had an opportunity of saying a word 
about Reine. 

In the interests of her favorite, Mrs. Herbert thought it 
desirable to make the acquaintance of Jack’s mother and 
sister, and Fortune was not long in favoring her with an 
more delicate than ever, and Mrs. 



London to consult an eminent 


physician. When they had been three or four days in 
town, Mrs. Herbert, after ascertaining that a call from her 
would be acceptable, paid her visit late in the afternoon. 
The Chesters were staying in apartments, as Lilah disliked 
the noise of a hotel. Mrs. Herbert found them in tribula- 
tion: the chimney smoked; the landlady was disobliging; 
Lilah was in a state of extreme nervous irritability. Mrs. 
Herbert, who was not, as a rule, fond of strangers or of 
being put out of her way, took pity on the two helpless 
ladies, and, having also an eye to Jack’s interest, insisted 
positively that they should give up their rooms and come 
to her comfortable house next day, and, in spite of Mrs. 
Chester’s protestations, would take no denial. The result 
was admirable. Lilah had never been so happy and com- 
fortable before. Mrs. Chester was weighed down by grati- 
tude, and Mrs. Herbert won in the mother and daughter 
two admiring and devoted friends. She was obliged to 
promise a return visit to them at their country home, and 
this led to an arrangement which gave pleasure to all 
parties. 

The dower house on the estate was let, but the tenant 
was in the habit of traveling during July, August, and 
September, and subletting the house for these three months 
if a desirable occupant could be found. The house was 


102 


OXCE AGAIN. 


charmingly furnished^ and had a lovely garden. Mrs. 
Herbert's custom was to rent a place in the country during 
the summer and autumn, and the Chester family implored 
her to come and take up her abode at the dower house. 

Mrs. Chester was aware that Mrs. Herbert was the friend 
of Mrs. Chandos, but, having heard no mention oi that 
lady for several months, had ceased to feel any anxiety or 
misgivings about her. Mrs. Herbert had not once men- 
tioned Reiners name in the presence of either Mrs. Chester 
or Lilah, and, before they came to see her, had, with a 
-slight qualm as though she were guilty of some treachery, 
locked away the beautiful miniature of Reine which always 
stood on her writing-table along with the handsomely 
bound volumes of poems which were also wont to occupy a 
prominent place in her boudoir. Truth to tell, slie and 
Jack entered into a little conspiracy which would have 
made Reine furious had she known it, to avoid all mention 
of her, and of her sayings and doings, before his relatives. 

Reine always spent at least a month with Mrs. Herbert 
at her summer resort, and Jack, with a beating heart, 
looked forward to the time when his idol would be even at 
his very gates. 

It was June before Mrs. Chandos came to London and 
took up her residence in her own pretty little house. She 
had almost forgotten Jack^s existence, but when she met 
him at Mrs. Herbert's she behaved very kindly and cordi- 
ally to him, and rallied her friend more than ever about 
her latest infatuation. Mrs. Herbert laid down the strictest 
rules for Jack^^s guidance, and, by repeating them over and 
over again, succeeded in impressing upon him the absolute 
necessity of following them if he ever hoped for success. 
True, she could not exercise the control over his eyes that 
she did over his tongue, but Reine did not appear to re- 
mark his occasional glances of devotion, and, as long as he 
ref rained- from putting his feelings into words, was quite 
willing to be friendly with him. Indeed, she took a con- 
siderable liking to him, and he was often allowed to be in 
her company when she and Mrs. Herbert were together. 

Henry Bertram not unfrequently made a fourth at din- 
ner or for a party to the play, and when Jack had fully 
convinced himself that this pleasant infidel had no designs 
on Reine ’s heart he became immensely attached to him, 
mid Mr. Bertram heartily reciprocated the young fellow^s 


ONCE AGAIN. 


193 


good feeling, being thoroughly pleased with his honest, 
open, and guileless nature. Mrs. Herbert had even con- 
fided her plot to him for the bringing together of this pair, 
and he, when he had seen and narrowly observed Jack, 
was by no means inclined to oppose or throw cold water 
upon it. 

He was sincerely attached to Reine; he knew that she 
was an unhappy woman, and he was ready to welcome any 
scheme that might make her life healthier and happier. 
He was always trying to combat that tendency to morbid 
feeling which was the chief cause of her discontent and 
despondency, and he agreed with Mrs. Herbert that, a 
lively and adoring young husband would be an excellent 
antidote to gloomy and pessimistic thoughts. 

Reine, acute though her instincts usually were, did not 
suspect the trap that was being laid for her by her devoted 
friends: the idea would have seemed to her so preposterous 
and absurd that it did not occur to her to entertain it. 
She was in a happier mood than she had been for a long 
time: the death of Captain Bernard was an unspeakable 
relief to her; she was no longer haunted by the fear of 
meeting him, or of hearing some disgraceful story about 
him. She now realized that she was absolutely free — the 
mistress of her own fate and life as far as any mortal can 
be. She consented willingly to spend some time with Mrs. 
Herbert at the dower-house, being in blissful ignorance of 
the fear and horror which she inspired in the maternal 
breast of Mrs. Chester. 

During her stay in town she saw a good deal of Mrs. 
Vernon, who was in 'a really pitiable state of wretchedness 
and embarrassment. She had conceived a positive dislike 
to her daughter, and declared it to be impossible that they 
should live any longer under the same roof. Knowing 
Reiner’s discretion, it was an immense relief to her to dis- 
cuss the miserable affair, and Reine sympathized very sin- 
cerely with her aunt. It was out of the question, Mrs. 
Vernon declared, that she should continue to go about with 
Dulcie as though she were a marriageable girl; and to live 
in a state of constant suspicion of some new treachery and 
' ‘>le. 



measure indignant with Noel 


for his cowardice; but he had sailed for India, and was nut 
of reach of her remonstrances or anger. She lived in daily 


194 


ONCE AGAIN. 


fear, she declared, of Dulcie^s folly bringing her into irre- 
trievable disgrace, and it was with heartfelt thankfulness 
that she read the announcement in the ‘‘ Post of AJwyne^s 
intended marriage. But until it was an accomplished fact 
she averred that she should not know a moment^s peace, 
since it might only be a fresh ruse of the pair, who seemed 
equally devoid of honorable instincts, to throw dust in her 
eyes and the eyes of the world at large in order that they 
might carry out their own abominable designs. 

Mrs. Herbert was acquainted with the Hedgerows, and 
Eeine elicited from her, without any breach . of her aunt^s 
confidence, that the engagement was a bond fide one, that 
the family were pleased with it, and that Alwyne appeared 
to be a very devoted and attentive lover. 

Dulcie remained for the present with Mrs. Leslie, as her 
mother had no desire to see her, and Mrs. Vernon em- 
ployed all the tact she possessed to account to her friends 
for her daughter’s absence from London in the very height 
of the season. 


CHAPTER XXHI. 

Mes. Heebert took possession of the dower house early 
in July. Reine was not to join her until a month later, 
having promised to spend some weeks with another inti- 
mate friend in Hampsliire. 

Mrs. Herbert, who never liked to be quite alone, especi- 
ally in the country, took with her as companion pro tern, 
the daughter of an old friend whom stern vicissitude had 
compelled to earn the bitter bread of dependence. Her 
experiences had been peculiarly unfortunate, her lot having 
fallen among vulgar and tyrannical people, and she could, 
although she rarely did, relate stories of the treatment she 
had suffered which would hardly have seemed credible to 
ordinary people. There are hundreds — let us hope thou- 
sands — of houses where governesses and companions are 
treated with kindness and courtesy, but there are others 
where the behavior of the emplo3^ers is such as they would 
not dare to show a servant, on pain of being left to wait 
upon themselves. In these days, when thousands of 
gently nurtured girls have no alternative but to earn their 
own bn'ad, when the market is so terribly overstocked with 
the commodity of unemployed gentlewomen, it is a case 


ONCE AGAIN. 


195 


either of starving or enduring; and if ladies are cruel and 
overbearing the unhappy dependent must submit, or run 
the chance of being for months without a situation, perhaps 
suffering absolute want. 

Mrs. Herbert, who had been very kind to Grace’s family, 
invited her to spend a month at the dower house. She was 
a tall, graceful girl, not exactly pretty, but exceedingly 
lady-like, with beautiful hands and feet and an unmistak- 
able air of breeding. She adored Mrs. Herbert, and would 
have done anything in the world for her. She used to say, 
a dozen times in the day — 

‘‘You must please not be so kind to me, or it will make 
the change so dreadful when I go away. ” 

Mrs. Herbert was delighted with the dower house. The 
present possessor, seeing what a desirable tenant he had 
secured in her, left out all his china, pictures, and pretty 
knickknacks, and, as she said, it was quite like going to 
one’s own home. There was' a wealth of flowers in the 
garden and conservatories, and Grace used to devote a 
great deal of her time to arranging them in the big china 
bowls; for Mrs. Herbert loved to have flowers about her, 
and scouted the old-fashioned idea of their making a room 
unhealthy. 

Sir John came every day to the house, under the pre- 
tense of wanting to know if she was quite comfortable, and 
if there was nothing he could do for her, and seemed quite 
disappointed that his good-will was not put to the proof. 

There was constant friendly intercourse between the Hall 
and the dower house. Lilah took a great fancy to Grace, 
who read, sung, and talked to her, and felt a genuine pleas- 
ure in lightening the burden of the poor little sufferer. 

After ten happy days Mrs. Herbert was sensible of the 
first crumpled rose-leaf. She saw that poor Grace was fast 
falling in love with Sir John, and it troubled her seriously. 
“How can one ever be sure, with the best intentions in the 
world,” she said to herself, “ that one is doing a kindness? 
I have brought Gracie here thinking to give her a montlrs 
rest and happiness, and it is quite likely that I shall be the 
means of causing her the worst heartaches she has ever had 
in her life, poor child!” 

For Jack, with his natural kind and refined instincts, 
behaved with much more attention to Grace than he would 
have done to most girls, on account of her dependent posh 


196 


ONCE AGAIN. 


tion, and it would have been quite pardonable on her part 
if she fancied that he was attracted toward her. Truth to 
tell, the young man was so anxious to be alone with Mrs. 
Herbert to talk about his beloved that he was mortally 
afraid of showing that the presence of a third person was 
irksome; and so, whenever Grace appeared, he was at 
great pains to conceal his chagrin, and in the goodness of 
his heart a little overacted his part. 

Mrs. Herbert reflected seriously upon the situation, and, 
after some heart-burning, came to a decision. Something 
must be done before it was too late, and she felt that the 
wisest course would be to conflde the real facts to Grace. 
With her usual tact, she selected her opportunity when they 
were sitting together in the twilight after dinner, reflecting 
that the dusk would conceal any emotion that her recital 
might bring to the girFs cheeks and eyes. 

She began by praising Sir John, his thoughtful kindness, 
his manliness, his good looks — for she thought him good- 
looking, although he had no very strict claim to being 
called handsome. By the vivacity and ardor with which 
Grace agreed to and echoed her encomiums, a not very 
subtle person would have got an inkling of the truth, and, 
for once, it was rather a source of pain to Mrs. Herbert to 
have her praises so eagerly assented to. 

“ Who could think, she went on, almost hating herself 
for the stab she was inflicting, that Sir John was the vic- 
tim of a hopeless love?’^ - 

A moment’s silence followed, in which the last speaker 
acutely felt what her listener was suffering. 

“ It is a strict secret,” Mrs. Herbert continued, with an 
effort, and if I conflde it to you you must promise faith- 
fully not to divulge it, nor to let him think you have any 
suspicion of it.” 

“ Of course,” answered poor Grace, in a hard, strained 
voice that she had the utmost difficulty in controlling, and 
a pang went through her heart as though the consciousness 
of a dire misfortune had come to her. She had not 
thought, imagined, hoped anything, and yet this revelation 
came upon her like a thunder-clap. 

Mrs. Herbert went on with her story in as natural a 
voice as she could command, and Grace listened whilst the 
light waned and her own heart grew dark and chill too. 
She liad once seen Keiiie and admired her immensely; but 


ONCE AGAIN. 


197 


now slie felt dislike of her growing in her breast, and in 
little more than a fortnight she, the poor despised governess 
and companion, would be ousted from all this happiness, 
and the beautiful, gifted, fortunate Mrs. Chandos, who 
already (as Grace thought) had all this world^s good things, 
would be queening it in a Paradise, with the man who pos- 
sessed every manly grace and virtue for her slave. Oh, 
how cruel the world is! how cruel life is for some people! 
and how others are heaped with gifts and blessings, with 
love and happiness! At this moment Grace would have 
scoffed had any one told her that Reine Chandos was a less 
happy woman than herself. 

Mrs. Herbert's tale was told. The room had grown 
quite dark, and silence fell upon the pair. 

“I think we will not have lights just yet,^^ said Mrs. 
Herbert, after a long pause. I feel a little sleepy,^’ she 
added, settling herself back in her chair; and Grace went 
away into the garden, and, sitting on a bench, looked at 
the vast heaven and the silver stars, and marveled at the 
cruelty of her lot, until her sight became dim and misty 
with tears. 

Neither that night nor at any future time was the sub- 
ject recurred to either by her or Mrs. Herbert. Poor Grace 
had an intuition why the story had been told her, and was 
careful to let her friend see that she perfectly understood 
and appreciated the motive of Sir John^s kindness to her 
and was in no way misled by it. 

As August drew near, and the time for Eeine’s visit 
approached, both Jack and Mrs. Herbert felt a little un- 
easy. Each knew full well what a shock the news would 
• be to Mrs. Chester, and each had a sense of guilt at their 
conspiracy and of fear lest it should be detected. Mrs. 
Herbert had promised to broach the news, and rarely had 
she felt more uncomfortable at u task. To her intense re- 
lief, a circumstance altogether unexpected came to her aid, 
and she was not slow to take advantage of it. 

• Mrs. Chester had written two or three times to Mrs. 
Vernon during the last few months, pressing her to bring 
Dnlcie and pjiy them the long-promised visit, and at last 
Mrs. Vernon had accepted. Alwyne Temple’s marriage 
had taken place, and there was no longer anything to be- 
dreaded from the thought of meeting him. To be alone 
with her daughter was insupportable to Mrs. Vernon, and 


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ONCE AGAIN. 


she had therefore accepted several invitations to country- 
houses, and fixed the beginning of August for her visit to 
the Chesters. 

Mrs. Chester came down to the dower house to announce 
the news to her friend, and Mrs. Herbert at once rejoined, 
with great aplomb — 

‘‘ That will be charming. I have just written to Mrs. 
Vernon’s niece, begging her to come to me. If she ac- 
cepts, we shall be quite a family party. ” 

Mrs. Herbert spoke with so innocent an air that poor, 
guileless Mrs. Chester was completely taken in by it; but 
the news was a severe shock to her, although she did her 
best to conceal what she felt. The one woman on earth 
she feared at her very gates! The poor lady went home, 
fell on her knees, and prayed as earnestly that her dear son 
might be dehvered from Heine’s wiles and snares as though 
Mrs. Chandos had been the Scarlet Lady in propria per- 
sona. 

Jack was at immense pains to hide his jubilance, but his 
heart was full of joy, and he seemed to tread on air. 

Mrs. Herbert was looking joyfully forward to Heine’s 
arrival, but a pang shot through her kind heart every time 
she thought of Grace’s departure and the sad change her 
life would undergo when she left the dower house. It was 
an immense rehef to her when, one morning, Mrs. Chester 
came to make the proposition that Miss Waltham should 
be offered the post of companion to Lilah for three months. 
The idea was Lilah’s own: she had been seriously con- 
cerned at the thought of losing her new friend, and it had 
occurred to her that it would be delightful to have Grace 
all to herself, not as a visitor, but as her own chattel and 
apanage. Mrs. Chester had demurred a little at first to 
the idea of taking a new inmate into the family; but Lilah 
had appealed to Jack, and he had heartily approved of and 
concurred in it. At all events, there could be no harm in 
trying it. 

Grace caught eagerly at the proposal. Like her sex, she 
clung to the presence of the beloved, even though she knew 
that it would cause her infinite suffering. 

Mrs. Vernon and Dulcie arrived two or three days before 
Heine. It was impossible for the Chesters not to remark 
how much changed Dulcie was since the winter. She 
looked sad; she made little effort to talk; and though she 


ONCE AGAIN. 


199 


forced a stereotyped smile when spoken to, it was so mani- 
festly artificial as to inspire no idea of pleasure or mirth in 
the beholder. Dulcie was, indeed, utterly miserable. 
What affection she had she had given to Alw3me: his very 
masterfulness had exercised a potent charm over her weak 
nature; it had been happiness to submit to him and to his 
influence. The memory of Noel filled her with fear and 
repugnance. A sense of dislike to her mother overspread 
her heart. She felt with indignant revolt that the latter 
had no pity for her, no sympathy with her grief; that, if 
she could, she would at any moment force her into the 
arms of Noel; that she would gladly welcome anything that 
would relieve her of her, Dulcie ^s presence. This was quite 
true. Mrs. Vernon felt nothing but impatient scorn of her 
daughter. Dulcie^s presence had become well-nigh intoler- 
able to her: the fact of having to take about a seemingly 
marriageable daughter under false pretenses was an odious 
fraud which she beyond expression hated being compelled 
to connive at. 

Until Alwyne^s marriage had become an accomplished 
fact, Dulcie had not seriously believed that it would take 
place. She thought he meant to frighten and to punish 
her : she was so certain that he loved her, she could not be- 
lieve he would willingly place an insuperable barrier be- 
tween them. When she read the announcement of his 
marriage in the paper, it had broken whatever of heart and 
spirit she possessed. 

Although all the members of the Chester family re- 
marked the change in Dulcie, it was only sharp little Lilah 
who connected it with Alwyne's marriage. She had seen 
at Nice that Dulcie was in love with her cousin, and had 
declared that Mrs. Vernon only left them and returned to 
England in order to get rid of Alwyne; and, although she 
was extremely puzzled to know why so eligible a young man 
had been rejected by Dulcie^s mother, she felt certain in 
her own mind that the change in Dulcie was to be attri- 
buted to Alwyne’ s marriage. She spoke purposely of 
Alwyne and his bride in Dulcie’s presence, watching her 
the while with lynx eyes, and she noted, with a certain 
pride in her own discrimination, that a faint color came to 
the girl’s cheeks and that she showed some slight embar- 
rassment. 

Lilah, with a desire of offering consolation to the victim 


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ONCE AGAIN. 


of her scalpel, spoke in a disparaging way of Lady Lucy, 
declared that she was fast and horsey and that there was 
no doubt she had a temper, in which case she and Alwyne 
would soon come to blows, as he had the very worst temper 
in the world and was so spoiled and selfish that he could 
not bear the least contradiction. Indeed, she, Lilah, pitied 
any poor wretch who had the misfortune to be his wife. 

Dulcie made no remark in answer, although she bitterly 
resented Lilah’ s words in her heart; but she had always 
looked upon her as a peevish, sharp-tongued, disagreeable 
little creature. 

Sir John did his utmost to amuse and cheer Dulcie. 
Always kindly and benevolently disposed, he was now so 
brimful of happiness that he burned to make every one 
about him happy, too, and could not tolerate the idea of 
her being miserable. So much attention, indeed, did he 
show her that Mrs. Chester’s hopes began to revive and 
poor Grace suffered keen pangs of Jealousy, thinking that 
perhaps, after all, Mrs. Herbert had been mistaken in sup- 
posing his heart to be given to Mrs. Chandos. 

But this impression did not last a moment after she had 
seen him in Reine’s presence. Then she knew beyond a 
doubt that Mrs. Herbert had told her the simple truth. 
There was an expression in his eyes, a ring in his voice, 
when he spoke to Mrs. Chandos, that would have betrayed 
him to the merest tyro in love’s ways. In spite of Mrs. 
Herbert’s warnings, he could not conceal the delight he 
felt in Reine’s presence. In London it had been different; 
but now that she was here, here in his own house, he felt 
as though he had a new prerogative to love her and to be 
happy. Whether Reine read what was written so legibly 
in his face or no, she made no sign, but treated him with 
frank kindness and without a shade of embarrassment. 
She was in excellent spirits, delighted to be once more with 
Mrs. Herbert, of whom she was exceedingly fond, charmed 
with the dower house, in unusually good health and spirits, 
and quite in tune to enjoy the simple pleasures of the 
country. Both she and Mrs. Herbert loved to be in the 
air, and were fond of driving, and there were plenty of 
pretty drives in the neighborhood. 

Jack was constantly at tlie house, and Reine still affected 
to laugh at her friend and to rally her upon his attention; 
and, as Mrs. Herbert wished to give him every opportunity 


ONCE AGAIN. 


201 


of being in Reiner’s presence, she smilingly accepted the 
impeachment 

“ There is one thing, my dear boy,^^ she said, confident- 
ly, to Jack, for by this time they were on the most familiar 
and friendly terms. “ There is one thing that I positively 
dare not do for you, and that is to leave you alone with 
Reine. If I did her suspicions would be aroused at once : 
so, much as I hate being third, I must for the present con- 
tinue to play that obnoxious part.'’^ 

Of course Jack had the good manners to assure her that 
never, under any circumstances, could her society be aught 
but delightful; and she smiled, and said that perhaps some 
day she might be able to convince him to the contrary, 
and that she ardently desired the advent of that time. 

He was compelled to make constant pretexts for being 
in the company of his two dear ladies, and, to that end, 
suggested frequent picnics and excursions, and, though this 
form of entertainment was not especially grateful to either 
Mrs. Herbert or Reine, they were amiable enough to sacri- 
fice themselves with a good grace to the general weal. 

So two or three young, men and maidens from the neigh- 
borhood were bidden to swell the party, and one of the 
former, an extremely eligible youth, fell forthwith desper- 
ately in love with Dulcie, to her extreme disconcertment 
as well as to the annoyance of her mother. To be am- 
bitious and to have a pretty daughter whom various men 
of jiosition and fortune were burning to make their own, 
and to have her secretly married to an obscure young soldier 
with whose lot she declined to cast in her own, was a dis- 
pensation so unbearable that one can scarcely wonder if it 
drove poor Mrs. Vernon to the verge of madness. 

And presently a new complication ensued. Alwyne, 
whose place was some thirty miles distant from his cousin’s, 
wrote to say that he and his wife had arrived there, and 
would drive over in his phaeton, sending on horses half way, 
and spend a couple of nights at the Hall. 

Mrs. Chester, on receipt of this communication, felt 
slightly embarrassed. Remembering what had happened 
ip/the winter, she thought it probable that a meeting might 
neither be agreeable to the Vernons nor to Alwyne. She 
palled her son into comicil. 

S ‘‘ Alwyne knows that the Vernons are here,” answered 
Hack. “I was writing to him the other day, and meu' 


202 


Oiq^CE AGAIN. 


tioned it. I dare say it is just a little bit of bravado on his 
part, to show them that he did not take his rejection at all 
to heart; but, of course, before we invite him and his wife 
here we must find out whether Mrs. Vernon and her 
daughter object to meeting him.’^ 

So Mrs. Chester put the matter as delicately as possible 
to Mrs. Vernon, and that lady, with a bland and serene 
face, declared that it would give them great pleasure to 
meet Mr. Temple and to make Lady Lucy's acquaintance. 

In her secret heart she did not like the idea at all. Be- 
lieving Alwyne to be absolutely unprincipled and her 
daughter idiotically weak, she felt no certainty whatever 
as to the result of a meeting between them. She deter- 
mined, however, to keep Argus-eyes upon both of the m, 
and, as the visit was to be so short, she hardly thought 
much danger could accrue from it. In the role of bride- 
groom, too, Alwyne would be compelled, for decency's 
sake, to show a great deal of attention to his bride. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Dulcie did not hear of the approaching visit until that 
evening at dinner, when Lilah made allusion to it. 

Her heart fainted within her; she turned waxen white, 
and could not eat another morsel. Xo one looked at her 
or seemed to remark her discomposure, and as soon as 
dinner was over she went to her room. She felt as though 
she would rather do anything in the world than meet Al- 
wyne under these new circumstances, now that it was as- 
sured beyond all assurance that henceforth he could be 
nothing to her or she to him. 

Her marriage in the registry-oftice had seemed an unreal 
kind of thing which might by some means or other be got 
over; but he had been married in church before the eyes of 
the world, and his ties were irrevocable, knitted by the 
Church, by law, by society. How would he meet her? 
Did he know she was here? Surely not, or he would hard- 
ly have been so cruel as to put her to the j^ain of seeihg 
him under these changed and hopeless circumstances. 
Even now she clung to the belief that he must still lovh 
her, and had only married from pique or despair. She sat( 
a long time at her open window, looking out at the moonlit \ 


OKCE AGAIN. 


203 


garden, but seeing nothing, thinking only her miserable 
thoughts, until a tap came at the door, and Grace asked 
softly whether she would not come down and join in a 
round game. 

She did not dare refuse the summons, but accompanied 
Grace to the drawing-room, and took the chair that had 
been placed for her next Sir John. She played mechanic- 
ally, like one in a dream; but Jack insisted on her banking 
with him, directed her play, and did his best to avert at- 
tention from her obviously distraite manner. Her mother 
glanced at her with covert scorn and resentment, incensed 
at her folly in wearing her heart so plainly on her sleeve. 

Mrs. Vernon rarely now saw or spoke to Dulcie in pri- 
vate, but she took occasion that evening to follow her to 
her room. 

“ I suppose, she said, in a hard voice, “ that you are 
not particularly anxious to give people the impression that 
you are pining for Mr. Temple; therefore, it would be as 
well in future to exercise a little more control over your- 
self, and not to wear the willow quite so plainly as you did 
to-night. If you have any self-respect, you will not, when 
he arrives, gave him the gratification of seeing how morti- 
fied you are by his marriage. ” 

Dulcie neither looked at nor replied to her mother; a 
sullen resentment overspread her heart; and, after a me- 
mentos pause, Mrs. Vernon turned and left the room. 

Alwyne had informed his aunt by letter that he and 
Lady Lucy would arrive in time for dinner. They were a 
little late, and every one went to dress except Mrs. Chester 
and Sir John, who waited to receive them. Dulcie thus 
escaped meeting Alwyne until the party assembled for din- 
ner. Mrs. Herbert and Mrs. Ohandos came from the 
dower house, and two men from the neighborhood had been 
asked, to lessen the great preponderance of the fair sex. 

The line which Alwyne had selected was very soon mani- 
fest. He greeted Dulcie as though she were the merest ac- 
quaintance, Mrs. Vernon with distant hauteur, and, having 
once exchanged with her the necessary greeting, never 
looked at nor spoke to her again during the evening. 

He was delightful to the ladies from the dower house, 
pleasantly patronizing to his aunt and Lilah, but his par- 
ticular attentions were reserved for his bride, of whom it 
seemed as though he could not make enough. He scarcely 


204 


ONCE AGAIN. 


took his eyes oft' her; if he was not speaking to her he 
brought her name unceasingly into the conversation; his 
directions to the servants about ‘‘ her ladyship's wants 
and comforts were a little more ostentatious than was com- 
patible with good taste. 

As for Lady Lucy, she accepted his attentions with per- 
fect good humor, if a little cavalierly, and chatted away 
after her own somewhat slangy fashion with great fluency 
and amiability. She was rather pretty, and perfectly un- 
affected; had her hair cut short like a boy, laughed rather 
loudly, and talked a great deal to Sir John about horses, 
racing, and equine matters generally. 

After dinner, Alwyne hovered about her, insisted on her 
singing, stood by the piano in rapt attention during the 
somewhat mediocre performance, frowning if he heard the 
smallest whisper among the company. He was looking 
very handsome and distinguished, and his manner, a trilie 
dictatorial and self-important to every one else, was charm- 
ing to his wife. 

Sharp-eyed Lilah was perhaps the only one who quite 
saw through him. 

‘‘ I think,'' she confided afterward to Grace, “ that Al- 
wyne is more detestable than ever. That* was his put-on 
manner to-night, and was only done to aggravate Dtilcie 
Vernon and to make out that he did not care two straws 
about her having refused him. So snobbish of him, too, 
to keep on about ‘ her ladyshp,' letting every one see how 
proud he is of having married an earl's daughter." 

Grace, who only saw in Alwyne a very handsome young 
man, devoted to his wife, thought Lilah very unjust; but 
she did not say so, having already discovered that it was 
unproductive of comfort or harmony to contradict the little 
tyrant. 

Poor Dulcie was cut to the he^rt. She suffered all that 
Alwyne' s revengeful spirit desired that she should suft'er; 
his manner convinced her that she was ousted from his 
heart, and that the devotion she had once inspired was 
transferred to his wjife. Yet, she thought bitterly, since 
he was so happy and triumphant, he might have had a 
kind word for her; he need ]iot have treated her with such 
marked and cruel indifference. She wept bitterly far into 
the night; she was suffering the most poignant anguish she 
had ever felt; and, for the first time, the thought dawned 


ONCE AGAIN. 


^05 


across her that she too had been cruel, and had caused 
bitter and unnecessary pain to i^oel by her heartless treat- 
ment of him. 

The next day there was a picnic, and a- tolerably large 
party assembled at the hall about midday. Ducie’s latest 
admirer was of the party, and testified his love-lorn condi- 
tion in the most ingenuous manner. 

Now, strange as it may seem, Alwyne, whose one object 
had hitherto been to evince in the most marked nianner his 
absolute indifference to Miss Vernon, was vastly displeased 
to see the post which he had so contemptuously disclaimed 
any wish for, occupied by some one else. It quite distracted 
him from his attention to his wife, and produced a disagree- 
able effect on his temper, making him perverse and contra- 
dictory and disposed to quarrel with every suggestion made 
for the general welfare and pleasure. 

Sir John drove Dulcie, LiJah, Grace, Dulcie^s admirer — 
Mr. Lister — and another man, in the break, and, imagin- 
ing that the devoted bridegroom would not like to be parted 
from his adored one, had arranged that they should drive 
in Alwyne^s phaeton. Lady Lucy insisted on taking the 
reins, and during tlie greater j)art of the way Alwyne 
grumbled and found fault with her coachmanship and ex- 
hibited himself in an altogether different fashion from that 
he had done the previous evening. But Lady Lucy seemed 
absolutely indifferent to his ill humor, and simply laughed 
at him and bade him “ shut up and not be a brute. 

During the al-fresco luncheon Alwyne’s displeasure in- 
creased at seeing the slavish attentions of George Lister to 
Dulcie. She accepted them gently enough, for she was so 
abjectly miserable that her one thought was to conceal her 
pain from the eyes of those present; and she therefore 
feigned an interest in his conversation which she was very 
far from feeling. By the end of luncheon Alwyne^’s wrath 
had reached boiling-point, and, with his usual willful dis- 
regard of what any one might think, he approached Dulcie 
and invited her to walk with him to see some view in the 
neighborhood. Lister, however, showed no intention of 
quitting her side;' so, after they had walked a few paces, 
Alwyne turned sharply round upon him and said — 

‘‘ My dear chap, I dare say you know the old saying that 
‘ two is ■'company. ^ Miss Vernon is an old friend of mine, 
and-^I have not spoken to her for an age; whereas you have 


206 


ONCE AGAIN. 


had the privilege, no doubt, every day lately. Perhaps you 
will let me escort her now, and when 1 bring her back I 
promise not to interfere with your claims. 

Lister looked furious. 

“ If Miss Vernon wishes to be rid of my company I will 
go at once,” he said, appealing eagerly to Dulcie; but she 
remained silent with downcast eyes. He was therefore 
compelled to take her silence as a proof that his society was 
not welcome; and, after a mo mentis pause, he turned on 
"Iiis heel, desperately vexed and wounded. 

Sir John and Reine, who were both witnesses of this little 
episode, felt extremely uncomfortable on Lady Lucy^s ac- 
count, and proceeded in concert to make themselves agree- 
able to her in order to divert her attention from her hus- 
band's strange behavior, and Mrs. Herbert, with quick intui- 
tion, ably seconded them. But Lady Lucy was evidently not 
one whit disconcerted or displeased at Alwyne's absence, 
and laughed and chatted away in the best of spirits. Lister 
attached himself to Lilah^and Grace, as being the nearest 
approach to the rose, and the other 3 ^oung men and maid- 
ens paired off and were soon lost in the sylvan arcades. 
Mrs. Chester and Mrs. Vernon were not of the party, hav- 
ing thankfully relegated to* the ladies from the dower house 
the duties of chaperonage. 

Now that Alwyne had carried off Hulcie in triumph, he 
did not appear to have very much to say to her. She was 
trembling in every hmb; her eyes were averted from him; 
her embarrassment was evident. Remarking his power 
over her, Alwyne received the necessary stimulus to his re- 
vengeful instincts. 

“ I thought,” he said, in a tone of cruel banter, that 
I was doing Lister a kindness in taking you away from 
him. You know it's deuced hard on men to go on losing 
their hearts to you under the impression that you are ” — 
‘‘fair game,” he was %oing to say, but changed it to 
“ eligible. What has become of Mr. — I forget his name; 
and how much longer are you going to keep him in the 
background?” 

The brutal bad taste of his remark was less obvious to 
Hulcie than his cruelty. Tears trembled on her lashes and 
fell; he saw them, but they only goaded him on to an in- 
creased desire to hurt her. 

“It really is an infernal shame,” he continued. “I 


OKCE AGAIK. 


207 


suppose you intend to let this wretched devil Lister break 
his heart about you. Do you mean to tell him the truth, 
or shall you wait until Mr. What^s-his-name pounces upon 
him from behind a tree or somewhere? By Jove! you made 
me miserable enough, I know; and if I had not met Lucy, 
when’s the dearest girl in the world, I might have blown my 
brains out, or gone to the devil, or God knows what!'^ 

Dulcie had very little dignity, but she was stung into re- 
plying— 

‘‘ It is most fortunate that you did meet her.^^ 

“ Yes,'’^ he said, “ it is. But I don^t suppose such luck 
is in store for every man; and I do say, as I said before, 
that it is ah infernal shame your going about sailing under 
false colors. Of course as long as a man does not see or 
know of any other fellow hanging about you, he always 
thinks he has a chance. 

I have never given Mr. Lister the smallest encourage- 
ment,^^ cried Dulcie, indignantly. 

‘‘I don^t know what you call encouragement,^' retorted 
Alwyne. ‘‘ I should call your behavior to him at lunch 
very decided encouragement. Perhaps you don't consider 
that you encouraged me?" 

Dulcie was silent. She felt unutterably miserable; she 
dared not say to him what was in her heart: ‘‘You know 
that I loved you, and that I hoped to be your wife in time." 
He was married: it was no use raking up the past or con- 
fessing her humiliation. If he could forget so soon, it ill 
beseemed her to show that she remembered. 

But Alwyne 's appetite for revenge grew in exercising it, 
and he went on. 

“ Where is your husband now?" he asked. 

Even a worm will turn. Dulcie, who had no wit, no 
readiness whatever at cut-and- thrust in repartee, was goad- 
ed beyond endurance. 

“If you only brought me here to say these things to 
me," she cried, “ I will go back to the rest of the party. 
You are married; you are happy: leave me and my misery 
alone!" 

“ Oh, by all means," returned Alwyne, in a lofty tone. 
“ I beg your pardon: I will not presume to mention your 
affairs again. Still, as we have come so far, we may as 
well go on and see the view that I was supposed to show 
you. " And for the rest of the way he discoursed entirely 


208 


ONCE AGAIN. 


about liis wife and her family, the delightful trip they had 
made in their honey-moon, the beauties of his own place, 
his horses, his dogs — on everything, in fact, that tended to 
his own self-exaltation and to show Dulcie what a loss she 
had sustained in him. Their Ute-a-tete lasted some three 
quarters of an hour. Never had Dulcie experienced such 
bitter mortification. She was not shrewd enough to see 
that, had Alwyne felt the indifference he professed, he 
would not have been at such pains to testify it to her, but 
would rather have been disposed to be the more kind and 
considerate. 

The pair rejoined their companions in very different 
frames of mind. Alwyne was jubilant in the extreme; the 
gratification of his revenge had warmed his heart and made 
him almost boisterously good-humored. He threw himself 
down at his wife^s feet, called her little woman, dar- 
ling,^ ^ and various other endearing epithets, and she received 
his advances with the same good-tempered indifference with 
which she had taken his absence. 

As for Dulcie, she could not command her face to any 
show of cheerfulness, and after what Alwyne had said she 
was positively terrified of appearing to give the smallest en- 
couragement to George Lister. And suppose, she thought, 
Alwyne betrayed her, and the fact of her secret marriage 
were to get abroad. She had no guarantee that he would 
not confide her dreadful secret to his wife, and she no doubt 
would tell every one, and perhaps make a jest of it. Then 
she, Dulcie, would be eternally disgraced and undone. 
Why had she not taken advantage of being alone with him 
to implore him to keep her secret? She must do so yet; 
but when would she have another opportunity? 

This thought entirely engrossed her mind, so that she dkl 
not even hear what George Lister was sa3dng to her, or take 
any account of the tender reproaches he was pouring into 
her ear. At first, on her return with Alwyne he had tried 
to sulk with her, but, finding that she did not even appear 
to remark this exhibition of his resentment, he abandoneti 
it, and endeavored to appeal to her better feelings. Both 
tactics were equally unsuccessful. He therefore, after the 
nature of his kind, waxed more deeply in love at every fresh 
proof of her indifference. 

^tow should she procure another interview with Alwyiic 


ONCE AGAIN. 


209 


in order to throw herself upon his clemency and to entreat 
his silence? 

This thought occupied her the whole afternoon. 

It had been arranged that all the members of the picnic- 
party should dine at the Hall that evening, and after they 
had boiled their kettle and drank smoky tea with apparent 
relish they prepared to return home in the same order in 
which they had come. Hulcie was not near enough to Al- 
wyne to exchange a word with him. 

As she was descending to the drawing-room before din- 
ner, she saw him on the stairs in front of her. 

‘‘ Mr. Temple/^ she said, in a low voice, accelerating 
her speed. 

He turned. 

“ I must speak to you,^' she whispered, in a hurried, 
agitated voice, coming up with him. 

At this moment steps were heard in the corridor above 
them. 

“ I will meet you in the garden after dinner,^^ he said. 
‘‘By the limes. 1 will go out the moment we leave the 
dining-room.^^ 

Dulcie would have demurred, but there was no time. 
And, after all, she did not much mind how or where she 
met him, so long as she could prevail upon him to keep 
her secret. 

When the ladies left the dining-room she went to her room 
to wait until it was time to keep her tryst. 

The evening was lovely. The long twilight had not yet 
faded out; there were still rosy gleams athwart the western 
sky. Presently she crept down-stairs, and, going out 
through the French window of the morning-room, took her 
way to the limes. There was a bench beneath the largest 
of them, and there she seated herself and waited with what 
patience she might for the coming of her whilom lover, now 
turned into a bitter and revengeful foe. 

Poor Dulcie! all joy and hope had gone out of her life; 
she saw nothing before her but wretchedness and despair. 

A step on the gravel, and Alwyne, flushed, triumphant, 
handsome, stood before her. He was a little excited at the 
situation; he had a pleasant sense that he was doing some- 
thing a trifle hazardous and not quite right, and he had, 
besides, a delightful feeling that he was scoring over Lis- 
ter. He had come with no wrong intent of any sort, but. 


210 


ONCE AGAIN. 


as he looked at Dulcie, her fairness, which was of the type 
he most admired, smote him with a sudden sense of loss, 
and he felt something of the old tenderness for her creep- 
ing back to his heart. 

“ Well,^^ he said, in a softened voice, with signs of melt- 
ing in his handsome eyes, “ I have come. What can I do 
for you.^^^ 

And with that he sat down on the bench beside her, and, 
swayed by sudden impulse, took her hand. Her one 
thought was to propitiate him, and she did not attempt to 
draw it away. She bad so utterly relinquished all idea that 
he cared for her that his action was without any signifi- 
cance. 

She looked at him with appealing eyes: her voice faltered 
and trembled. The evidence of her weakness touched all 
his senses. Lucy had no weaknesses. 

‘‘ Oh!^^ she almost gasped, “ I implore you to have pity 
on me and not to betray my dreadful secret! If any one 
knew it, I should die outright.-’^ 

And here she fell to weeping. 

“ My poor little girl, doiiT cry!^^ said Alwyne, greatly 
touched. “ Of course I wonT. What do you take me for?’^ 

He clasped both her hands in his, and looked tenderly in 
her face, feeling repentant for his cruelty of the afternoon. 

“ I was a brute to-day,^’ he went on, penitently, but I 
did not mean it. I swear no one shall ever hear the least 
word from me. You know,^'’ his tone growing very soft, 
“ I was awfully fond of you, and, though of course that is 
all over now, I could not help feeling savage when I saw 
that ass Lister making love to you. 

Considering that it was all over, his gaze was rather 
ardent, his manner extremely tender, and the pressure of, 
his hands not altogether indicative of a burned-out flame. 
But propinquity is admittedly dangerous. 

Oh,” cried poor Dulcie, feeling this moment as though 
he were the only friend she had in the world, ‘‘ do not be 
unkind to me any more! If you knew how wretched I am, 
you would be sorry for me. ” 

‘‘My poor dear little girl!’^ uttered Alwyne, genuinely 
touched. And, without any evil intent, he yielded to the 
strong temptation that seized him, and, putting his arm 
round her, drew her head tenderly on his breast. And at 


Ol^CE AGAIIT. 211 

this precise moment^, George Lister, with furious eyes, stood 
before them, crying, in a voice hoarse with rage — 

“ By God! this is too bad^^ 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Alwyhte and Dulcie sprung to their feet — the man full 
of wrath, the girl of terror. 

‘‘ D — n you! what do you mean by coming spying here?’^ 
cried Alwyne, and he aimed a blow at Lister which sent 
him reeling. Recovering himself, George sprung upon his 
foe like a bull-dog, and in a moment the two were engaged 
in mortal combat. 

Dulcie shrieked aloud, and her shrieks brought speedy 
aid in the person of Jack, who had missed the two men, 
and was searching for them to join in a dance which had 
been proposed in the drawing-room. 

Horrified at the sight which greeted him, he flung him- 
self upon the combatants. 

‘‘ Are you mad?^^ he cried. “ Do you want to raise the 
whole house?'’’ 

Quivering with rage, perhaps not wholly unmixed with 
shame, the two men stood panting and glaring at each 
other. 

‘‘Pray, Miss Vernon, go in at once!” said Jack; and, 
terrified as she was, Dulcie could not fail to remark the 
stern displeasure of his tone. She crept away, feeling the 
most guilty and miserable wretch in the world. What aw- 
ful Nemesis perpetually dogged her footsteps and led her 
into the most appalling situations! An agonized fear 
smote her that Lister would tell what he had seen, that this 
terrible affray would soon be public property, and that she 
was for evermore disgraced and ruined. Wild visions of 
flight sped across her brain: she would never be able to 
face her mother if this fearful story were made known to 
her. Cowering and terrified, trembling in every limb, she 
took her way to her room. 

Meantime, Jack, full of righteous wrath, was giving the 
combatants a piece of his mind, and they received it very 
much as hounds with guilty consciences take a rating. 

“ Upon my soul,” he cried, “ this is a nice gentleman- 
like thing, to maul each other like two costermongers bo- 


212 


ONCE AGAIN. 


fore a lady! And you, Alwyne, with a wife! A pretty 
figure you will cut in this disgraceful business! For God^s 
sake get away quietly to your own room, and stop there till 
I come to you! George, I must get you in the back way 
somehow.^'’ 

For poor Lister’s nose was ignobly dripping blood be- 
yond the powers of a handkerchief to control, and his shirt- 
front bore fearful testimony to the fray. 

Jack succeeded in getting his guest by the back staircase 
to his own room, and, when his friend’s nose was sufficient- 
ly stanched to make conversation possible, he sternly re- 
quested an explanation. 

“The scoundrel!” cried. George, with many adjectives 
and expletives. “ Only married a month, too! And God 
knows,” with a gulp in his throat, “ how I loved that girl! 
My greatest hope in the world was to marry her. I missed 
her out of the drawing-room, and then I saw him sneak off, 
and I was determined he should not be alone with her; so 
in a minute or two I went after them, and there I found 
the blackguard with the girl in his arms. ” 

“ Well?” said Jack, who was horrified in his mind, 
thinking of poor Lady Lucy as well as of Dulcie, and curs- 
ing Alwyne in his heart for an unprincipled scoundrel. 

“ Well, my feelings got the better of me, and I con- 
fronted them and cried out that it was too bad, and he 

started up and struck out at me. But, by , he has 

not heard the last of it! I’ll fight him. By , I will!” 

“ I don’t think you will,” returned Jack, coolly. “ If 
you are a gentleman, as until to-night I took you to be, 
you won’t bring disgrace and misery upon two poor inno- 
cent women — at all events,” correcting liimself, “ upon 
one. ’ ’ 

“ It wasn’t her fault, I swear!” cried George, flaring up 
in her defense: “it was his. He always was an infernal 
blackguard about women : you know he was, though he is 
your cousin.” 

Jack had not the smallest inclination to defend Alwyne, 
with whom he was furious. 

“ Look here, George,” he said, quietly. “ Miss Vernon 
is under my roof, and, as my guest, any one who causes 
trouble or annoyance to her has to answer to me. You 
have got to swear on your honor as a gentleman, before 
you leave this room, that you will never breathe a word to 


OKCE AGAIN. 


213 


living soul about having seen her in Alwyne^s arms. If 
you have any further quarrel with him, the whole thing is 
bound to come out; and that I swear it shall not. 

Lister was a young fellow of honorable instincts. 

“Do you suppose, he said, reproachfully, “ that I 
would hurt a hair of the girDs lieadr^’ 

And then, poor boy, overcome by his feelings, he buried 
his face in his hands and gave a convulsive sob. 

“ I did love her so!^^ he went on, presently; and Jack, 
greatly touched, his honest heart full of sympathy, laid a 
kind hand on Lister’s shoulder, saying — 

“ It is awful hard lines, poor old chap. Don’t think too 
badly of the girl,” he went on, after a pause. “ You know 
there is no doubt she was very fond of Alvvyne last winter, 
and so was he of her, and then, for some reason or other, 
no one knows why, her mother interfered and sent him 
about his business. And I dare say it was only some little 
explanation they were having, and perhaps neither meant 
any harm: only you know it is awfully dangerous for peo- 
ple to be out in the moonlight together, and I wish to 
Heaven,” wound up Jack, vigorously, “ that you had had 
the sense to keep out of the way.” 

“ I wish I had, now,” groaned George. 

“ Well, I must go back to the drawing-room and make 
the best story I can,” said Jack. “ I suppose I had better 
order your trap and say you’ve gone home with a head- 
ache.” 

“Yes,” responded Lister. “I’ll get in at the stables. 
Send my coat up to me here to cover myself up with.” 

“ All right. I’ll ride over and see you to-morrow. And 
you swear to keep this dark?” 

“ I swear, but only for her sake. By George, I should 
like—” 

But Jack cut him short by leaving the room. 

The ladies were waiting in wondering expectation for the 
arrival of their swains. Jack put on the most cheerful air 
he could muster. 

“ I am afraid we sha’n’t manage a dance to-night,” he 
said. “ Lister has gone home seedy, and I can’t persuade 
Alwyne to leave his cigar,” he added, mendaciously, hating 
himself for having to tell even so trifling a lie. 

“I will go and fetch him,” cried Lady Lucy. “How 
lazy of him! Where is her” 


214 


OITOE AGAIN. 


“ I saw him last in the garden/^ answered Jack, fearful 
lest she should seek him in his room. 

Lady Lucy ran off to the garden, accompanied by the 
only remaining man, and Jack went to Ms cousin’s room to 
see what traces he bore of the fray. 

One glance at him showed that he would develop a fine 
black eye by the morrow, and so disconcerted was Jack by 
this discovery that he forgot to reproach him. 

“ What the deuce are you going to say to your wife?” he 
cried, anxiously. “ You must invent something. Say you 
tumbled over the roots of a tree. You must never let out 
one word of tMs to a soul. Lister is gone; he will hold his 
tongue; now you had better think how to make your story 
good. I can’t stop, or people will begin to fancy there’s 
something up. ” 

As he left the room, it occurred to Jack that there was 
yet another person to be thought of. Dulcie was probably 
still in fear and trembling and uncertain what course events 
had taken. He paused to think. He did not like the idea 
of going to her room, but still less did he like that of writ- 
ing to her and sending the note by a servant. 

He went on tiptoe to the corridor where her room was, 
and tapped softly at the door. She opened it with a scared 
look, and his heart was touched by compassion in a moment. 

“Come down-stairs,” he whispered, gently. “Not a 
soul will ever know a word of what has happened; and I 
hope you feel that you can trust me. ” 

Without another word, he sped noiselessly away and re- 
turned to the drawing-room. 

But Dulcie’s nerves were too sorely shaken to admit of 
her reappearing in pubhc that night. Believed of her 
worst terrors, she hastened to disrobe, and when Grace 
came to look for her she pleaded fatigue and indisposition 
and announced her intention of going to bed at once. - 

Mrs. Vernon had been extremely uncomfortable mean- 
time. The simultaneous disappearance of Alwyne and her 
daughter had filled her with apprehension, and when Grace 
brought word that Dulcie had gone to bed with a headache 
she was by no means reassured, remembering what had 
come of her pretended headache on a previous occasion. 

She, however, refrained from going to see Dulcie: it was 
impossible, she felt, despairingly, to contend with or over- 
come her folly: so she left her to her fate. On inquiring 


ONCE AGAIN. 


215 


of Morton later on, she elicited that Dulcie really seemed 
extremely unwell; but she contented herself with recom- 
mending the maid to see that she had all she wanted. 

Lady Lucy raced all over the grounds in pursuit of the 
recalcitrant Alwyne, but in vain. Then she sought him in 
the smoking-room, with no better success. Finally she 
proceeded to his dressing-room; and here she found him. 
He was so horribly frightened and felt so guilty that it had 
the effect of making liim extremely amiable. 

‘‘Why, Alwyne,” cried her ladyship, “what on earth 
have you done to your eye?^^ 

He affected to treat the matter in a light and airy man- 
ner. 

“ The fact is, my dear girl,” he answered, pleasantly, 
“ that I went out to have a smoke, and came a most in- 
fernal cropper over the roots of one of those confounded 
old trees and hit my eye against a garden-seat. It's rather 
a mercy I ’didn't put it out." 

“ Poor dear boy!'' said Lady Lucy, kindly. “ But, you 
know, it rather serves you right for not coming in to dance 
when we wanted you. " 

“Well, I can't come now, anyhow," he returned, still 
quite pleasantly. “I'm afraid I shall have a horrid l3lack 
eye to-morrow. Such a nice respectable sort of thing, 
too!" he added, forcing a laugh. 

“ It is rather awkward," she assented. “ But evei’y one 
will know you can't have got it fighting.” 

And she laughed cheerfully, without the smallest arriere' 
pensee. 

“ You had better go down again, Lu," remarked 
Alwyne, “ and don't make any fuss about it. It will only 
worry my aunt." 

Lady Lucy returned to the drawing-room, and naively 
related the story of Alwyne' s accident with her own little 
theory of retributive justice, but also with many expres- 
sions of wifely compassion. 

The party soon after broke up, to Sir John's unspeaka- 
ble relief. For once he could even say good-bye to Mrs. 
Chandos without wishing to detain her. When the last 
guest was gone, he went back to Alwyne. He had never 
set up for being a censor of morals; he was never down 
upon any one; but he had a deep and indignant sense that 
his cousin had behaved like a villain to a woman under his 


216 


ONCE AGAIN. 


roof, and he intended to have an assurance that there 
should be no recurrence of the love-passages of this even- 
ing. Jack was very diffident, as a rule, about interfering 
or giving advice: he had, however, a very strong sense of 
honor, and this gave him the necessary resolution to say out 
straightly what was in his mind. 

As he entered the room, Alwyne saw by the look in his 
eyes and the unusual sternness of his manner that there 
was to be a reckoning between them. But for the fact of 
his having a wife and the horrible fear of her getting to 
know what had happened, he would probably have brazened 
the matter out; but now he hastened to say, in his most 
propitiatory manner, 

‘‘ This is a deuced unlucky business. Jack, and I am 
awfully sorry for my share in it.'’^ 

It is something more than unlucky,’^ said Jack, warm- 
ly. It is utterly disgraceful; and I don’t see what excuse 
you can make for it in any way. ” 

“ Look here. Jack,” cried Alwyne, “ I give you my 
word of honor that I meant no harm, and that there would 
have been none if that blundering ass Lister had not come 
playing the spy. ” 

‘‘You mean you would not have been found out,” re- 
torted Jack, indignantly. 

“ Listen, my dear old chap!” cried Alwyne. “ I will 
tell you exactly what happened. You know how awfully 
fond I was of that poor little girl last winter, and that I 
wanted to marry her. Well, I couldn’t: I can not explain 
why to you, but there was a very good reason. I admit 
that I proposed to Lucy out of pique, but I am extremely 
fond of her; she’s a real good sort, and I would not do 
anything wrong by her, for the world. Wait a bit!” as 
Jack looked incredulous. 

“ I must own I was rather unkind to poor Dulcie Ver- 
non to-day, and said some nasty things to her at the picnic, 
and she took it dreadfully to heart, and when we met on 
the stairs going down to dinner she said she had something 
she wanted to say to me, and I proposed meeting her under 
the limes when we came out from dinner. Well, when we 
were there, the poor little thing began to cry, and I felt 
awfully sorry for her — you know. Jack, it does upset one 
to see a woman cry — and I swear to you upon my soul that 
without the very least thought of harm to her or Lucy, 


ONCE AGAIN. 


217 


just out of sheer good feeling, I put my arm round the poor 
little girl to comfort her, and then 1 looked up and saw 
that fool Lister standing gibbering in front of us like an 
ape. So I lost my temper and let out at him. 

“ Ah!^^ said Jack. “ I thought it was understood that 
gentlemen did not brawl and strike each other before a 
woman. 

“ Oh, I grant I was wrong, admitted Alwyne; ^‘butl 
was so infernally provoked. ” 

“And suppose,^ ^ suggested Jack, “that I had not by 
good fortune come along, or that any of the servants, hear- 
ing Miss Vernon scream, had rushed out: a pretty business 
it would have been for you and your wife and her!^^ 

“Oh, well,^'’ returned Alwyne, “thank God it turned 
out as it did. You don^t think, eagerly, “ that any one 
suspects anything.^' 

“ 1 don’t know that any one does,’^ returned Jack: 
“ but things have a nasty way of leaking out. Bowever, 
I shall do my best, you may depend, to keep it quiet. And 
now, if you will take my advice, you will order youj* 
phaeton to-morrow morning directly after breakfast, and 
not wait till the afternoon. The sooner you put a good 
distance between yourself and Miss Vernon, the better for 
all parties concerned.’^ 

“ Yes, that will be the best thing, no doubt,'’ ^ assented 
Alwyne, with a good grace. “ But, my good fellow, don’t 
run away with any mistaken notion that I am still in love 
with Dulcie Vernon, or that I am not devoted to Lucy.” 

Jack made no answer to this, but, bidding his cousin 
good-night, left him with anything but a light heart, and 
secretly cursing his selfishness. It was all very well for 
him; but what about the poor girl? 

It was no feigned indisposition on Dulcie ’s part that 
prevented her going down to breakfast the next morning. 
Fear and agitation had kept sleep from her eyes: in spite 
of Jack’s reassuring words, she felt no confidence that this 
dreadful affair would remain a secret, and her cheeks were 
hot with shame at the recollection of the compromising 
situation in which George Lister had seen her. How could 
she hope or expect that an angry man, burning with jeal- 
ousy, would keep her secret or put any but the worst con- 
struction on her conduct? Poor Dulcie told herself over 
and over again that she had meant no harm; she hardly 


218 


ONCE AGAIN. 


knew how it came to pass that Alwyne^s arm had stolen 
round her; she only knew that she had been unutterably 
miserable, and that Alwyne’s kindness and his caress had 
soothed her. 

This morning her head ached and throbbed: she could 
not raise it from the pillow. 

Alwyne, on the contrary, appeared at breakfast in the 
most cheerful and amiable of moods — laughed at his own 
misfortune, and was thoroughly pleasant all round. His 
wife’s maid had confectioned him a black silk patch which 
concealed the discolored orb, and he v declared that, as he 
could not see to drive with one eye, he must trust his life 
and limbs to Lucy’s coachmanship. 

Lilah’s sharp eyes scarcely quitted him, and she confided 
to Grace afterward that Alwyne seldom made himself so 
agreeable unless he had a guilty conscience; and, indeed, 
she formed a tolerably shrewd guess that some fracas had 
occurred in which he. Lister, and Dulcie had been engaged. 

When the bride and bridegroom had departed, amidst 
much bustle and commotion, and with many friendly ex- 
pressions on all sides. Jack ordered his horse and betook 
himself to visit the other combatant. He found him with 
his good looks somewhat impaired by a swelled nose and a 
bump on his forehead. Moreover, he was in a state of the 
deepest dejection. 

“ I was so awfully fond of that girl!” he groaned, almost 
in tears. “ I had made up my mind to marry her if she 
would have me; and now, of course, all that is over.” 

Jack chivalrously did his best to explain away Dulcie’s 
momentary weakness, and then went so far as to say, 

“ I am afraid Miss Vernon does not mean to marry. If 
she had, she would, I think, have taken Alwyne, whom 
she really seemed to like, last winter.” 

“ I don’t suppose I ever had a chance,” returned Lister, 
despondently; “ but, even if I had, I should have given 
up the idea after this. ” 

“ My dear chap,” said Jack, diffidently, only anxious to 
make the best of the matter for Dulcie, “ I suppose one 
can hardly expect to marry a woman who has never liked 
any one else.” 

“No, I dare say not,” answered George, moodily. 
“ But I draw the line at a married man. If a girl will go 
on wdth him, she isn’t to be trusted : you mark my words. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


219 


I shall go up to London to-morrow when I look a little 
more respectable/^ walking up to the glass and inspecting 
himself, “ and I sha^n’t come back until she has left you. 
Send me a line. Jack, will you?^^ 

All right,^^ he replied, cheerfully; then, after a me- 
mentos pause, “ I say, George, I dare say Miss Yemen feels 
rather bad about what happened. I should like to be able 
to give her your word of honor that — that it is quite safe 
with you.o^ 

‘‘Do, by all means,^^ answered George: “there’s my 
hand on it. And— and Jack,” faltering, “ you might tell 
her how awfully fond I was of her.” 

No, no,” cried Jack; “ let us hope you will be able to 
tell her that yourself one of these days. Good-bye, 
George. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ That was rather a mysterious affair last night, was it 
not?” Mrs. Herbert remarked to Reine, as they sat in two 
lounging-chairs under the shade of a big tree in the garden. 
“ Mr. Lister suddenly taken ill, Mr. Temple tumbling over 
a tree, and your cousin disappearing altogether. ’ ’ 

“ Yes, it was,” returned Reine, a thoughtful frown 
drawing her brows together. She felt slightly embarrassed 
by her knowledge of Dulcie’s affairs, for she had not a 
secret in the world of her own from Mrs. Herbert, and 
would gladly have discussed this with her, but for a sense 
of honor, which restrained her from confiding her cousin’s 
dilemma even to so discreet a lady as Mrs. Herbert. 

On her part, Mrs. Herbert never imagined for a moment 
that there was any secret in the case, or that she was caus- 
ing the smallest embarrassment to Reine by mentioning the 
matter. They were accustomed to speak of everything to 
each other without reserve. 

“ Mr. Lister seemed extremely put out in the afternoon,” 
resumed Mrs. Herbert, “ when Mr. Temple so coolly 
carried the young lady off. It is fortunate that Lady Lucy 
is not of a jealous disposition, or she might not have been 
very well pleased at her husband’s behavior. Dulcie is a 
pretty, sweet-mannered girl. I am not surprised at men 
losing their hearts to her; but I do wonder a little at her 
obduracy. I suppose Mr. Temple was very devoted to her 


220 


ONCE AGAIN. 


last winter, and she seemed to like him. Why did she not 
marry him:* ’ 

‘‘ My dear Mia,^^ returned Reine, disingenuously, who 
can answer for the caprices of a woman, still less a girl? 
And, besides, she might have liked him very much with- 
out feeling any inclination to marry him. 

‘‘ Perhaps it runs in the family to object to marriage, 
remarked Mrs. Herbert, apparently occupied in contem- 
plating the stones in one of her rings. 

‘‘ The experience of some of its members would not be 
calculated to tempt others to try it,^^ rejoined Peine. 

Mrs. Herbert promptly changed the subject, assuming 
from the tone of her friend ^s voice that the subject was not 
agreeable to her. 

“ I think,^^ she said, ‘‘ that Sir John behaved with great 
tact and discretion last night. 

Eeine smiled maliciously. 

“ Anything serves to give you an opportunity for glorify- 
ing the beloved object, Mia,"’"’ she observed. “ How weak 
you are about that yonng man!’^ 

“ I am very fond of him, certainly,^’ assented Mrs. Her- 
bert. 

I shall not be surprised at any time,^^ resumed Eeine, 
‘‘ to hear that you are about to become Lady Chester.^"' 

“Poor dear boy! What a fate for him!” smiled Mrs. 
Herbert. “ No! but if he were an impecunious orphan I 
should be strongly tempted to adopt him. 

“ Talk of an angel and you hear his wings, laughed 
Eeine. “ Here comes your paragon !^^ 

Jack was advancing swiftly toward them, his face light- 
ing up with pleasure as he approached. 

“ You must stop and lunch with us,^^ said Mrs. Herbert, 
and he accepted gladly. “ And now,^^ she continued, do- 
ing something quite opposed to her usual practice, “ I am 
going to ask you two to entertain each other for a quarter 
of an hour. I have two letters that I positively must write, 
and if I do not write them before lunch there is very small 
chance of their being ready by post-time. 

Eeine had quite a friendly feeling for Jack now, and had 
forgotten that he had once been accused of being in love 
with her. So she was quite unembarrassed at being left 
alone with him, and not disposed to suspect any treachery 
on the part of her friend. 


ONCE AGAIN. ' 221 

How is your cousin this morning?^ ^ she asked. “ Has 
he recovered from his accident?” 

He has rather a black eye,” returned Jack, ‘‘ but it is 
covered up with a patch; so there is not much to be seen. 
They started directly after breakfast, and are half-way 
home by now. ” 

“ And the rest of your party?” inquired Reine; “ are 
they all wellr^^ 

‘‘ Quite, thanks,^ ^ he answered, “except Miss Vernon, 
who is still suffering from headache and was not able to 
come down to breakfast.” 

Reine looked at him rather fixedly, and said, suddenly, 

“Was Dulcie in the garden last night when Mr. Temple 
met with his accident?” 

“Was she not in her room?^^ asked Jack, seeing some- 
thing of an engrossingly interesting nature which caused 
him for a moment to turn his face away from Mrs. 
Chandos. 

Many women under the circumstances, seeing what a poor 
figure Jack cut at dissembling, would have plied him with 
questions and have tried to wring the truth from him; but 
Reine could appreciate loyalty and respect a man for not 
betraying a confidence; so she simply answered, “ Ah, yes, 
I suppose she was,” and proceeded to compliment him 
upon the success of yesterday’s jficnio. 

“ Have you been writing any poetry lately?” Jack vent- 
ured to ask, presently. 

“ You will be glad to hear that I have not,” smiled 
Reine, with a trifie of malice in her tone. “ I know that 
you do not approve of my verses.” 

Jack fiushed crimson. 

“ Why do you say that?” he cried, in great distress. 
“ I think them most beautiful. Only,” hesitating, “ only 
I wished so much that you would write something — some- 
thing happier, as if you took a cheerful view of life.” 

“ Something comic?” suggested Reine, taking pleasure 
in teasing him. “ Do you think I could write the words 
for a good music-hall song, or something of that sort?” 
Then, seeing how dreadfully pained he looked, she added, 
“No! my muse is a sorrowful one, and must always be so. 
It is a good sign that I have not been writing lately, for it 
proves that I have not been unhappy.” 

“ I am so glad to hear you say that!” lie returned, with 


222 


ONCE AGAIN. 


more ardor than the occasion seemed to require. “ You 
ought always to be happy. You were never meant for 
anything else. 

“ When 1 was a child/ ^ said Eeine, not appearing to ob- 
serve the intensity of his expression, ‘ ‘ I had my horoscope 
cast by an old man who lived in the village close by my 
grandmother ^s place. It was written on a dirty piece of 
paper, and contained abstruse and rather ill-spelled refer- 
ences to various planets. The only part of it which I re- 
member is the prediction that I was to be ‘ immersed in 
sorrow and trouble while young, but happy in old age.^ So 
I am rather looking forward to that halcyon time, in the 
hope that, as the first part of the prophecy has been cor- 
rect, the last may also be realized. 

But you will have a long time to wait for that,^^ re- 
marked Jack. 

Not so very long,^^ she answered, indifferently. 
“ Now,-’^ smiling, “ be good enough not to rack your- brain 
for a compliment: there is nothing I dislike so much. By 
the way,’"’ with a swift change of tone, “ have you heard 
our news? Do you know that we are to have a guest at 
the dower house 

With a lover ^s proneness to jealousy. Jack felt a twinge 
at this announcement. He did his best to conceal it, and 
said— 

‘ ‘ Keally, in an interested voice. 

“Guess!^^ demanded Eeine, smiling; and he guessed 
with perfect correctness. 

‘‘ I think by your looking so pleased that it must be 
Bertram, he replied. 

‘‘How clever of you!^^ laughed Reine. “Yes, it is 
Henry Bertram. Mia and I have been' quite excited ever 
since we had his acceptance this morning. 

Jack did not look quite as though he shared their satis- 
faction. True, his fears had slumbered in London, but 
they were quite ready to spring up again. A man has 
such opportunities in the country and staying in the same 
house with a woman. 

“ It will be very delightful for him, no doubt, said 
Jack, in a somewhat embarrassed tone. 

‘I And for us too,^' returned Reine. “ He will bring us 
all the very latest news and gossip: it will be equivalent to 
a week^s visit to London — not in this dull time, but in the 


OI^CE AGAIN-. 


223 


height of the season. He always hears everything, and has 
a wonderful talent for retailing it. ^ 

I should not have thought you were fond of scandal/^ 
remarked Jack, in a slightly aggrieved tone. 

I did not say scandal: I said gossip,'’^ returned Heine. 
“ Please to note the distinction.^^ 

‘‘ A distinction without a dilference,^^ said Jack, whose 
feathers were ruffled at the thought of an interloper in his 
Eden. 

‘‘A distinction with a very great difference, insisted 
Peine. Gossip is good-natured, scandal is ill-natured. 
No one ever heard Henry Bertram say anything ill-natured. 
You know. Sir John, that you never did. 

“No, certainly,^ ^ replied Jack, “I can not say that I 
ever did. 

“ I thought you liked him,^’ observed Peine, rather un- 
kindly. “ And yet you do not seem at all pleased to hear 
he is coming. We were going to ask you to come and help 
us entertain him; but I am afraid you will not care to 
come. 

“I shall be delighted to come,^^ cried poor Jack, with 
energy, seriously alarmed at the thought of being ousted 
from Paradise. “ And I hope that he will come up to us, 
too. My mother will, I know, be charmed to see him. 
She talked so much about him after meeting him at Mrs. 
Herberts. 

“ She has no idea what a terrible wolf in sheep^s clothing 
he is,^^ laughed Peine. “ However, he has never devoured 
a lamb yet.^' 

“ Except you,^^ thought Jack, sorrowfully, looking hard 
at her; and Peine, being a thought-reader, divined his 
glance at once. 

“No one, she said, with warmth, “ever heard him 
say a word to shock a personas prejudices. He never speaks 
of his belief or his unbelief before any one whose opinions 
do not coincide with his own.'’^ 

“ Still, he does not believe in anything, replied Jack, 
with an obstinate design of falling foul of Bertram, since 
Peine had appeared so delighted at the prospect of his 
coming. 

“ At all events, retorted Mrs. Chandos, “if his views 
do not coincide with those of many ‘ professing Christians,^ 


224 


OKCE AGAIN-. 


as they are called, his actions are, as a rule, worth fifty of 
theirs.-’^ 

It was rather fortunate that at this moment the luncheon- 
bell rang, and the pair, somewhat ruffled, took their way to 
the house. 

Mrs. Herbert saw in an instant that her favorites were 
not quite in harmony, and exerted herself to restore cordial 
relations. 

“ I hope,^^ she thought, that foolish boy has not been 
trying to improve the occasion by declaring his passion. 
But she was soon enlightened as to the cause of his despond- 
ent mien. ' 

“I have been telling Sir John our delightful news,^’ said 
Eeine, being considerate enough, however, to choose a 
moment when the servants had left the room, and he does 
not in the very least share our enthusiasm. ^ ^ 

Mrs. Herbert immediately ranged herself on Jack^s side, 
thinking it very unkind of Eeine to torment him. 

‘‘Perhaps he does not express it in so exaggerated a 
manner as you do, my love,’^ she remarked. “ But I am 
quite sure &r John will be pleased to see Henry, for they 
are the best of friends, and I am looking forward to his 
helping us to entertain our guest. A man can not be 
always with women: he wants a friend of his own sex to 
smoke with and talk to about sport and other congenial 
topics. I know Sir John will be delighted to give him a 
iftount and show him the country. 

' Jack’s face brightened in a moment. As long as he was 
not to be left out in the cold, the best horse in his stables 
was at Bertram’s service, and he was ready to show him 
any amount of hospitality. 

‘ ‘ And four is such a pleasant number, ” proceeded Mrs. 
Herbert. “ I have a great deal to say to Henry, and it will 
be your task,” with a mischievous glance at Eeine, “to 
rescue Mrs. Chandos from the disagreeable part of third.” 

“ Indeed, my dear Mia,” returned Eeine, with spirit, 
‘ ‘ if you think you are going to have the monopoly of Mr. 
Bertram ypu are very much mistaken. And,” maliciously, 
“ I really can not undertake- to console Sir John for your 
neglect, or to be made a pis alter for him. ” 

“ How unkind you are!” said poor Jack’s eyes, quite 
plainly; but Mrs. Herbert laughed. 

“ You are too modest, my dear; but still you must not 


ONCE AGAIN. 


225 


expect always to carry everything before you, and when 
you have the misfortune to be in company with a woman 
so much younger and more attractive in every way than 
yourself, you must be prepared for an occasional reverse. 

“ I will endeavor to adapt myself to circumstances,^^ re- 
turned Reine, trying by an assumption of extreme gravity 
to spoil her friend^s little joke. Harmony was, however, 
completely restored by this time, and the three repaired to 
the garden to drink colfee, and Jack remained in great 
contentment until Mrs. Herbert's horses came prancing 
round to the door, when, with a' thousand apologies and 
much expressed astonishment at the rapid flight of time, 
he took his leave. 

As he rode up the drive on reaching the Hall, he caught 
sight of Dulcie sitting alone in the garden. He left his 
horse at the stables and went to join her. She greeted him 
with a smile that was a very poor make-believe of mirth, 
and he felt quite concerned to see how wan and white she 
looked. 

“ I am afraid you are not at all well," he said, in a very 
kind voice, sitting down beside her. He could never bear 
to see a woman suffer, and he saw at a glance that Dulcie 
was suffering both in mind and body. 

She put her hand to her forehead with a weary gesture. 

“ My head aches," she said. “ That is why I stayed at 
home. The others have all gone out. " 

“ I am so sorry!" returned Jack. “ Can I not do any- 
thing for you?" 

She hesitated a moment; then, gaining confldence from 
the extreme kindness of his tone, she said — 

Have you seen Mr. Lister?" 

“ Yes," he replied, anxious to say anything that might 
relieve her mind. “ I was over there this morning. He 
is going up to London to-morrow or next day, and — and — 
he gave me his word of honor as a gentleman that nothing 
should come out about last night." 

“Oh!" gasped Dulcie, with intense relief. “And do 
you think he is to be trusted?" 

“ I am sure of it," returned Jack, cordially. 

Dulcie looked up at him, and then away again. 

“ I do not know what you can think of me," she said, 
blushing painfully, “ but indeed — " 

“ I do not think anything," Jack interrupted, hastily. 

8 


226 


ONCE AGAIN. 


“ I have no wish to pry into other people’s affairs. No 
doubt it was all a misunderstanding; but please do not ex- 
plain it to me. I am quite sure it is better not to discuss 
it. Don’t you think/’ abruptly changing the subject, 
“ that it would do you good to have a little fresh air? 
Come for a drive with me. FU have my phaeton round in 
half an hour, if you will.” 

Yes, Dulcie said, she would be very glad to go with him. 
Her own company had become intolerable to her, and she 
was only too thankful to be taken out of herself. So J ack 
went back to the stables, and she strolled into the house to 
get her hat. 

During the drive Jack laid himself out to the utmost to 
amuse her, and, seeing through his kind intention and feel- 
ing extremely grateful to him, Dulcie smiled and talked, 
and affected a gayety she was far from feeling. Still, the 
effort did her good, and she returned to the Hall in a very 
much more cheerful frame of mind than that in which she 
had left it. All the evening she kept up a semblance of 
good spirits, and Sir John was so constantly at her side that 
his mother was delighted, and had serious hopes that he 
was getting weaned from his allegiance to the dangerous 
Mrs. Chandos. 

His kindness was not lost upon Dulcie, who put no mis- 
construction upon it. She could not help contrasting him 
with Alwyne, and thinking how unkind and inconsiderate 
the latter had been toward her. And then her thoughts 
went back to Noel, and, for the first time for many months, 
she wished that the accident had not happened — that she 
had gone away with him whilst she loved him, and that she 
had never met Alwyne. No doubt she would have been 
perfectly happy now as Noel’s wife, and in India she would 
have been adored and made much of. And now what had 
she to look forward to? She hated being with her mother, 
who looked upon her as a burden, and she wished that she 
had consented to marry Noel, as her mother had desired, 
and gone away out of the country with him. She could 
not have been more miserable than she was now; nay, she 
could not have been half so miserable. She was fond of 
him once: why should she not come to care for him again, 
now that there was no longer any hope of Alwyne? And, 
remembering Alwyne’ s ostentatious attentions to his wife, 
and the pains he had been at during that walk in the wood 


ONCE AGAIN. 




to mortify and vex her, the thought occurred to her that, 
after all, he was hardly worth wearing the willow for. 

But she went to sleep that night without seeing a way 
out of her misery, and thankful only for one thing — that 
her secret was not betrayed, and that the disgrace she had 
feared had not overtaken her. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Henry Bertram had arrived, had been welcomed with 
cordial delight by the ladies at the dower house, and now, 
having done justice to an excellent dinner, was sitting with 
them on the veranda outside the drawing-room windows. 

“ Here indeed is the happy valley!^^ he exclaimed, with 
a sigh of bien-Ure ; here, far from the world, from its 
cares, ambitions — worst of all, its pleasures — might a man^s 
heart know rest! I feel at this moment as though I never 
want to see a town again, but could spend the remainder 
of my life in serene contemplation, always provided, smil- 
ing, “ that I might have the same delightful objects to 
contemplate. 

‘‘ Think so as long as you can, my dear Henry, re- 
turned Mrs. Herbert. We are flattered -to have inspired 
these sentiments in you, if but for half an hour; and, as 
you will only give us the pleasure of your company for so 
short a time, we shall take the greatest pains to keep up 
the illusion: shall we not, Reine?^'’ 

‘‘ I trust,'’" said Bertram, fervently, “ that you have not 
been making plans’ to amuse me; because I consider the 
very most delightful thing in life is to do nothing in pleas- 
ant company. "" 

Oh,"" said Reine, teasingly, ‘‘ Mia. has filled up every 
hour for you. She will not allow me any of your society, 
for fear I should bore you, and with break of day Sir John 
Chester is to arrive with fleet steeds, and you are to scour 
the country with him and be shown every show-place, ruin, 
view, and object of interest in the county."" 

Bertram made a gesture of mock dismay. 

“ How much of this is fact, and how much the imagina- 
tion of the poetess?"" he asked of Mrs. Herbert. 

It is like the inspiration of most poets, "" laughed his 
hostess — “ truth seen eithui' through a magnifying-glass, or 


22S 


ONCE AGAIN. 


like a face reflected iii a spoon — anything but actual fact, 
and yet inspired by fact. Sir John has offered to place his 
stables at your disposal, and it is for you to accept or de- 
cline as your fancy dictates.’’^ 

‘‘ I like that lad, and shall be glad to meet him again, 
remarked Bertram, not unmindful of what Mrs. Herbert 
had confided to him of her match-making plans. 

‘‘Oh, pray,^'’ cried Reine, “do not set Mia off on the 
subject of her paragon. I hear of nothing but his perfec- 
tions all day long when you are not here: for pity^s sake let 
us have a new theme now!^^ 

“ Do not believe her!^^ interrupted Mrs. Herbert. “ But 
if I do speak well of him, turning to Mrs. Chandos, 
“ pray what do I say that is more than true?^-’ 

I humble myself in the dust, Mia,^^ returned her 
friend. “ I admit that he is the handsomest, the wittiest, 
the most heroic, the most pattern young man altogether in 
the three countries — nay, in Europe, in the whole world. 
Will that content you?^^ 

“ Not at all. Exaggerated praise is contempt in dis- 
guise. I never said more than that Sir John was very 
amiable and kind-hearted, and the best son in the world. 

“ You will see, Henry,^^ said Reine, maliciously, “ that 
we shall dance at the wedding yet. Indeed, I suppose it 
will be your pleasing task to give the bride away. 

“ I hope we shall all be at his wedding,^^ remarked Mrs. 
Herbert, “ and that his wife will be worthy of him. 

“ How unkind of you! Poor young man! As if he is 
not much happier now than he could possibly be with a 
wife to torment him!^^ 

“ Why should she torment him, pray?^’ asked Mrs. Her- 
bert. “ If she were a nice woman, she would be devoted 
to him. 

“ She would probably not be a nice woman,^^ retorted 
Reine. “ Nice people never marry each other: one is 
always infinitely better than the other. I tremble to think 
of the sort of woman Henry would marry if he took unto 
himself a wife."’"’ 

“ Have no fear, my dear,^^ returned Bertram, gayly. 

‘ ‘ Henryks wife is not yet born. Marriage under some circum- 
stances is a very desirable estate, but, though I recommend 
it to my friends, I have never yet desired it for myself. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


229 


Perfect liberty, absolute freedom, is my idea of well-being; 
and even the most elastic fetters would seem bonds to me. 

‘‘ It is very cruel of you to say that to Mia and me,"^ 
smiled Reine. ^ ‘‘ Devoted as we are to each other, I am 
sure we are quite capable of quarreling a oiitrance if you 
showed any disposition to throw the handkerchief to either 
of us.'’^ 

Quite echoed Mrs. Herbert. “ How, after this con- 
fession, tell us about Cowes. 

What shall I tell you? One Cowes fortnight is pre- 
cisely like another, except for any difference the weather 
may make. Nine people out of ten are profoundly bored 
or extremely uncomfortable, cooped up in yacht-cabins or 
fifth-rate lodgings. Men dawdling about and yawning, 
women who hate and fear the sea running horrible risks of 
mal de mer for the sake of being en evidence — all their eager 
eyes converging to the lode-star of royalty, all dying to be 
distinguished by a word of notice, or, mingled bliss and 
anguish, an invitation on board the royal yacht. But only 
fancy the horror of succumbing to nausea under august 
eyes. There were the usual number of pretty women and 
wonderful toilets in the club gardens and at the dances; the 
usual practical jokes at the expense of a certain lady; the 
usual flirtations; the usual scandals; the usual everything. 

And what was the latest scandal inquired Mrs. Her- 
bert. 

“ The most engrossing topic of conversation was Lady 
Blanche’s engagement to young L. It is a regular case of 
Titania and Bottom. He appears to be an irreclaimable 
lout, without birth, breeding, or money, a confirmed 
drunkard, I fear, and she is the sweetest little creature 
possible and absolutely infatuated about him. He treats 
her in the most cavalier manner, and she hangs upon his 
every word and look with an adoring expression that is 
positively painful to see. I am afraid that her mother, 
who is sadly weak, will not be able to prevent her from 
marrying him. ” 

“It is shocking!” observed Mrs. Herbert. “I really 
feel thankful that I have no children. They are almost 
certain to choose the very people to fall in love with that 
one most objects to, and the instant you thwart them they 
forget all your devotion, and regard you simply as an 


^30 


ONCE AGAIN. 


enemy to be detested and circumvented, possibly to be 
treated with coldness and disdain. ^ ^ 

‘‘ That is very true/^ assented Eeine, with a sigh, think- 
ing of Dulcie and Mrs. Vernon. 

“ I do not know,^^ remarked Bertram, cheerfully, ‘‘ that 
we have any right to expect our children to see with our 
eyes and judge with our minds. You and turning to 
Mrs. Herbert (“we can not include Reine as a contem- 
porary), know how very differently we think and feel on 
many subjects from what we did twenty years ago. To be 
tenacious of one^s loves and one^s opinions is very natural 
to the best sort of youth; and I suppose none of us would 
very much value affection that could be diverted from us 
at the will of a third person. 

“I suppose not,^^ assented Mrs. Herbert. “But it is 
very melancholy to see young people digging pit-falls for 
themselves, which, if they tumble into, they will hardly 
ever get out of during the rest of their lives. However, 
lightly, ‘‘ as we are none of us blessed with olive-branches, 
we need not make ourselves vicariously melancholy with 
such reflections.” 

Mr. Bertram turned to Reine. 

“ Has this charming place not inspired your muser” he 
asked her. “ Are we not to have ‘ Verses from the Dower 
House 

“No; I do not intend to write verses from anywhere,^’ 
she replied, a trifle pettishly. 

“ What! never any more?” 

“ No; I am disgusted at being misunderstood, and tired 
of being called improper and blasphemous and atheistic. ” 

“ All great people have been misunderstood, my queen,^^ 
said Bertram. 

“ Do not think I am posing for 2^ femme incomprise. It 
is a part I particularly dislike. And indeed,” with a 
proud gesture of her head, “ I do not wish to be under- 
stood by the general world. What it thinks is a matter of 
supreme indifference to me.'’^ 

‘ i will tell you,"^ interrupted Mrs. Herbert, “why her 
pen has been idle. She has been much happier of late; 
and I never knew Reine inspired unless she was unhappy. ” 

“ ‘ Prosperous nations have no history.-^ Reine, happy, 
writes no poetry. Then I will not wish for more,” an- 
swered Bertram, with an affectionate glance at Mrs, Chan- 


ONCE AGAIN. 231 

dos. I would rather she were happy than the most 
famous woman of her time.^^ 

‘‘ Happy echoed Reine. Happy is a very big word. 
I exist, and I am not absolutely miserable. The sun shines. 
I breathe pure air. I have Mia^s society, which, with a 
smile, “ is amusing when I can get her to vary the theme 
of her remarks, and now I have you; so that — yes, really 
to-night I am next door to being happy; I am content. 

“ Would anything make you happy Bertram asked. 
‘‘ Can you conceive a state of bliss?^^ 

“ That is the worst of it,^^ she replied; ‘‘ I can. I im- 
agine bliss so perfect that all reality must inevitably fall 
far short of it. 

“ That is the penalty of imagination,^^ he returned. 
‘‘ I, who am a poor, prosaic earth-worm, am always happy, 
and the little cares and worries of life only make a foil to 
its bright side for me. ” 

You will have gout some day, smiled Reine, “and 
then melancholy will mark you for her own. 

“ It is humiliating to think how men^s minds are gov- 
erned by their stomachs,^ ^ he answered, laughing — “ that 
it is not to one’s heart or brain one owes ideas and im- 
pulses, but to the greater or less perfection of one’s powers 
of assimilating and digesting food.” 

A note was here brought to Mrs. Herbert, with an inti- 
mation that a reply was awaited. 

She read it smiling. 

“ Ho not look at her while she reads,” whispered Reine; 
“ it is from the beloved one.” 

“ Here is a charming proposal for to-morrow,” said Mrs. 
Herbert, refolding her missive and returning it to its en- 
velope. “ Sir John wishes us to drive over to B , which 

we have not yet seen. There is a delightful little inn where 
he proposes to order lunch, and he will drive one of us in 
his phaeton and the other two are to go in my victoria.” 

“ An excellent idea,” replied Reine, promptly. “ Henry 
and I will go in the victoria, and that will give me the op- 
portunity of the Ute-a-Ute for which I am so anxious. 
You, of course, Mia, will go with Sir John.” 

Mrs. Herbert smiled in reply. 

“ Do you approve the project?” she inquired of Bertram. 

“ With all my heart,” he responded, cordially. 

So the invitation was accepted, and Sir John bidden to 


232 


ONCE AGAIN. 


come to the dower house with his phaeton at noon on the 
following day. 

Mrs. Ohandos rallied her friend upon the imprudence of 
showing herself in public with Sir John. However, by 
some strange means for which the author can not account, 
the next day it was Reine who occupied the seat by Sir 
John, while Mrs. Herbert and Bertram bowled away in the 
victoria. 

It was a heavenly day, with a balmy west wind tempering 
the sun^s ardor. Jack looked radiantly happy, and Reine, 
who was extremely fond of horses, felt a certain amount of 
pleasure in sitting behind the handsome, spirited chestnuts 
she had so often admired. But scarcely had they set out 
upon their journey when an incident occurred which went 
very near to spoiling their day^s pleasure. About a mile 
from the dower house they passed a group of cottages. 
Some twenty yards further on a couple of children were 
playing on the bank by the road-side. Just as the phaeton 
came up to them the imps, as is the delight of mischievous 
children, ran across the road under the horses^ noses. 
Jack pulled them up on their haunches; Reine uttered a 
low cry ; there was a yell, and one of the children lay in the 
road, with its head one inch from the front wheel. If the 
near horse had not shied the head would have been under 
it. There was an awful moment while the servant jumped 
out and Jack was pacifying the plunging horses, whose 
every movement endangered the child; then, as the man 
dragged it away and took it up in his arms. Jack cried, 
with a white face, 

‘‘ Good God! William, is he killed? 

A lusty yell gave an instant and satisfactory answer to 
the question. 

‘‘ Bring him here and put him on my lap,-^^ cried Reine, 
trembling; and the man reluctantly obeyed, having regard 
to the lady's nice dress and the soiled and dusty condition 
of the urchin. 

“He’s not hurt. Sir John, the young rascal!” said the 
indignant groom. “ Serve him right if he was. He’s been 
up to it afore, and all but got Bob thrown the other day on 
Black Bess. ” 

Jack and Reine were carefully examining the screaming 
child, but only found a slight cut on his head, where a 
stone had struck him as he fell. 


OKCE AGAIN. 


233 


There, my little lad, donT cry,^^ said Jack, kindly. 
‘‘ Look at this!’^ And he produced a half-crown from his 
pocket, at which the tears promptly ceased to flow and the 
yells subsided. 

“ Go to their heads, William. The horses were quiet 
now. “ Do you mind holding the reins a moment?’^ to 
Mrs. Ohandos; and Jack got out, lifted the child down, 
and, taking him by the hand, led him toward the cottage. 

“ He does not seem hurt,^^ remarked Heine to the groom. 

“ No, ma^’am, not he,’’"’ returned Y/illiam, unfeelingly. 

I expect the horse^s shoulder just ketched him and spun 
him round. They^re always up to it, the young villains; 
and if he had been run over it would just have bin a warn- 
ing to the others. 

Meantime, a woman came running out of the cottage, 
having been apprised by the other urchin, who had swiftly 
taken to his heels, of the catastrophe, and, seeing that her 
treasure was not injured, she proceeded to abuse and 
threaten him volubly, alternately offering deep apologies 
and courtesies to the youug squire. 

“ There, Mrs. Wilson, don^t scold him this time!^^ said 
Jack, good-naturedly. He^s been well frightened, and I 
donT suppose he will do it again. 

“ He want a good hiding he do. Sir John ; and that^s 
what his fatherfll gi^ ^un when he comes home.^^ 

“ No, no, not this time! You must promise me not to 
say anything more this tihie; but if it happens again, why, 
then he'^s to have a good thrashing. Do you hear that, my 
little man? Now, donT forget! Promise me youfll never 
do it again. 

And tlie blubbering urchin was understood to give an 
undertaking to refrain from risking life and limb in future. 

Strange what great effects small incidents cause in the 
human mind! Jack^s good nature and tenderness to the 
child made Heine feel better disposed toward him than she 
had ever been up to this moment, and in her heart she 
compared him very favorably with two other men whom 
she had known intimately — her Husband and her father — 
who, under similar circumstances, would have been very far 
from showing or feeling any pity or softness toward the 
mischievous cub. 

She was more charming to him than she had ever been — 
a fact of which Jack was delightedly conscious, although 


234 


OKCE AGAIN. 


he did not guess the cause. Had he done so he would have 
seriously contemplated endowing the good-for-nothing ur- 
chin with a ten -pound note in addition to the half-crown. 
How short the eight miles seemed ! the mile-stones had sure- 
ly been moved nearer together; how exhilarating was the 
west wind! — how glorious the sunshine! — how lovely the 
clouds floating like swans on the bosom of an azure lake! 
Surely there was never such a congenial 'parti carre as the 
one which lunched in the pretty, old-fashioned parlor of 
the Golden Bull, or loitered afterward in the streets of the 
quaint old town. 

Jack had something on his mind that he was anxious to 
say to Reine. It was not on his own account, but on that 
of Dulcie, for whom he felt unfeignedly sorry. He had 
delayed broaching the subject until the return journey, for, 
good fellow that he was, he was dreadfully diffident about 
interfering in matters which did not concern him, and 
horribly afraid of seeming to take a liberty. 

About half-way home he suddenly lapsed into silence, 
seemed rather distrait, and was much occupied with re- 
moving flies real and imaginary from the sleek sides of his 
chestnuts. At last he broke out suddenly: 

‘‘ I should so like to say something to you, Mrs. Chandos, 
only — only I should be so awfully distressed if you were to 
think I was taking a liberty. 

Reine wondered a little what this preamble might mean, 
but he hastened on, lest she should be led into any mis- 
taken idea of his intention : 

“It is about your cousin. Miss Vernon. Of course I 
don^t know — it may be only my imagination; but I canH 
help fancying that she is not very happy, poor little girl!” 

And here he glanced diffidently round at Reine, to ob- 
serve whether his remark was taken in good part. She 
looked thoughtful, for the knowdedge of Dulcie 's secret 
oppressed her. / 

“ No,^^ she said, hesitatingly, “ I fear she is not quite 
happy. She is a good deal changed of late. ” 

“ I don’t think, Jack hurried on, “that she and her 
mother quite hit it off, if you’ll excuse my saying so. It 
seems to me as if she wanted a friend to give her a little 
advice — one she wouldn’t be afraid of, and that she could 
confide in,” 


OKCE AGAIK. 235 

And Jack^s eyes plainly intimated that Heine was the 
person of whom he was thinking. 

In liis heart, he believed that Dulcie was fretting after 
Alwyne. Heine was under the impression that her mar- 
riage and the dislike she had conceived for her husband 
caused her misery. Jack did not like to hint his suspicions, 
and Heine could not tell him what she knew. 

“ I am very fond of Dulcie, she said, presently. ‘‘ I 
would gladly do anything I could to make her happier; but 
I am very much afraid my power falls far short of my 
will.'’^ 

Oh, no,^^ cried Jack, eagerly. If you would talk to 
her — if you would persuade her that it’s no use crying 
about spilled milk, that what’s done can’t be undone, and 
that there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of 
it. ” 

Jack’s words were homely, but they afforded his listener 
a very clear exposition of his views. She saw that he at- 
tributed Dulcie’s sadness to regret for his cousin. 


CHAPTEH XXVni. 

It "was some little time before Heine answered Jack’s 
eager speech. No doubt he knew something of which she 
was ignorant, something that had reference to the mysteri- 
ous disappearance of the three young people at the Hall 
that evening, but he would not betray Dulcie, and she had 
not the smallest desire to make him do so. 

‘‘It beats me,” Jack pursued, seeing that she did not 
reply to him, “ why, if she liked Alwyne and he was so in 
love with her, Mrs. Vernon did not let them marry each 
other. ” 

“ My aunt may have had good reasons for objecting,” 
answered Heine, very much at a loss what to say. 

“ Oh, of course we know Alwyne has been rather 
spoiled,” returned Jack, “ and I can’t quite understand a 
mother being doubtful about his making a good husband; 
still, he really isn’t a bad chap at heart, and with a nice 
amiable girl, who would give in to him, I think he would 
turn out all right. Still,” with a troubled sigh, “ it’s no 
use going back to that now. ” 


2S6 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Reine knew that it was idle to discuss a subject on which 
they were at cross-purposes; so she said, 

“ I will come up to-morrovY and have a little talk with 
Dulcie, and try if I can be of any use to her. 

“ Do! do!^^ cried Jack. ‘‘ That will be awfully good of 
you!^^ 

He spoke as though it were his cousin, not Reiners, for 
whom he was pleading, and his tone expressed supreme 
confidence in the success of her mission. 

As they passed the scene of the morning^s adventure 
Jack pulled up at the cottage to inquire whether any fur- 
ther injury to the boy had been discovered, and was greatly 
reassured when he came out, holding on to his mother^s 
apron, abashed in spirits by the jobation he had received 
from his parent, but not a pin the worse otherwise. 

Mrs. Ohandos related the incident at dinner. 

“ I suppose, she said to Bertram, that there will be 
no holding Mia after this, but I am bound to admit that 
her paragon showed to advantage to-day. 

“ Of course he did, dear boy,^^ replied Mrs. Herbert, 
secretly delighted at Reine’ s praise; “ he always does what 
is kind and nice.” 

“Have I not admitted it?” said Reine. “You must 
not expect me to prostrate myself and worship the young 
man because he was good-tempered under rather trying 
circumstances. ” 

“ The young monkey deserved a whipping!” remarked 
Bertram. “ There is nothing so dangerous. The best 
horse I ever had was thrown down and broke his knees by 
being violently pulled up to save the neck of an imp of a 
child who rushed out in front of liim. I remember that I 
swore pretty freely, and felt very little compassion for the 
child, on the occasion. ” 

“ All’s well that ends well,” said Reine. “ We have 
really had a charming day, and for once an excursion has 
not bored me. And you, Henry?” 

“ I shall mark this day with a white stone,” he answ'ered, 
smiling. 

The next morning Reine walked up to the Hall. They 
were to dine there in the evening, but she knew that she 
would have no opportunity of speaking privately to Dulcie 
then. First she sought her aunt, told her of her intention. 


OKCE AGAtK. 237 

and asked permission to disclose to Dulcie that she was 
aware of her secret. 

Mrs. Vernon was in a state of intense irritation. 

“ It is impossible/^ she exclaimed, “ that I can go on 
being worried in this way. Dulcie is absolutely devoid of 
self-respect. She goes about looking wretched. I am cer- 
tain eveiy one in the house knows that she is pining after 
that odious young Temple. I have not the least doubt 
that some disgraceful scene occurred the other night when 
those three were absent from the drawing-room, which 
probably every one except myself is aware of. I will not 
ask any questions, for fear of being driven to exasperation. 
I assure you, Reine, that I would gladly give up half my 
income if I could send her out to join that wretched young 
man in India. If he had not been destitute of every spark 
of manly feeling, he would have insisted on taking her. 
As to going on in the way we are doing now, it is impossi- 
ble. I should soon be in a mad-house. The constant 
strain of governing my feelings and seeming to smile and 
observe nothing, is more than human flesh and blood can 
endure.’’^ 

‘‘Poor auntie, said Reine, soothingly, “it is indeed 
very trying for you. Let me speak to Dulcie and hear 
what she says. I can not help pitying her too. 

“ Pitying her!" cried Mrs. Vernon, with exasperation. 
“ What is there to pity? Her own folly and her unpar- 
donable duplicity have brought all this upon her. Have I 
not watched over her from a child? Has any girl had more 
care or kindness bestowed upon her? and yet at the very 
first opportunity she forgets affection, duty, everything, 
and overwhelms me with disgrace and misery. " 

“It is a terrible grief for you,^^ Reine replied, sympa- 
thetically. “We must try and see some way out of this 
dreadful dilemma. Let me go to her now and hear what 
she has to say. " 

So Mrs. Chandos proceeded to her Cousins’s chamber, and 
was fortunate enough to find her there. 

“ My dear child," she said, kissing her affectionately, 
“ this is a terrible state of things. I want to talk to you 
about it: you know you may trust me, do you not?^^ 

She felt that with her cousin the only way was to attack 
the subject boldly, for the girl always took refuge in fence 
and subterfuge when it was possible. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


S38 

Dulcie shot a frightened glance at her, but did not an- 
swer. 

Reine sat down and took her hand. 

“ Mydear/^ she said, softly, “ what is to become of your 
future? You are very unhappy: your poor mother is 
almost distracted about you: you can not go on in the 
way you are doing now.^^ 

“ Mamma is heartless and cruel/^ cried Dulcie, bursting 
into tears. I only wish I could get away from her.^^ 

“ Then, my dear child, why did you not get away when 
you had the opportunity? I will tell you at once that I 
know about your marriage; then there need be no disguise 
between us.'^ 

Dulcie hid her face and continued to weep. The most 
trying person of all to deal with is the one who declines to 
enter into a discussion, but leaves you to have all the con- 
versation to yourself. 

Reine was not daunted: knowing her cousin^s peculiar 
disposition, she continued to hold one of her hands, and 
went on speaking very gently. 

“You know, dear child, you must have been very much 
attached to Mr. Trevor before you could agree to such a 
serious step as clandestine marriage with him; and if, poor 
fellow, he has done nothhig since to forfeit your regard, as 
indeed he has had no opportunity of doing, it is unreasona- 
ble that you should take a dislike to him without cause. 

Dulcie answered not a word. 

“ Surely,^ ^ Reine continued, after giving her an oppor- 
tunity to speak, of which *6he did not avail herself, ‘ ‘ surely 
if you loved him ten months ago you might get to care for 
him again; he is quite devoted to you: and would it not 
be better to be with him than to lead this life, which is 
most distressing both to yourself and to your mother?” 

At last Dulcie opened her lips. 

“ I wish I was dead!” she said, bitterly. 

“ But, my dear, there is no chance of your dying. 
What you have to do is to try and make the best of your 
life. You can not get away from tlie fact that you are 
married to Mr. Trevor. It is your duty to be with him; 
and why should you not be happy and make him happy, 
instead of making yourself and him miserable? And you 
know, Dulcie, it is hopeless as well as wrong to allow your- 
self to dwell on the thought of any other man.” 


ONCE AGAIN. 239 

I do not/^ cried Dulcie, with more energy than she 
had yet shown. 

“lam afraid/^ said Eeine, softly, “ that you have given 
the impression that you are not quite indifferent to Mr. 
Temple. 

Dulcie averted her eyes, but said nothing. 

“Think,” pleaded Eeine, “how painful all this must 
be for your poor mother! You should not forget, dear, 
how devoted she has been to you all her life. Try, for a 
moment, to put yourself in her place. Think what she 
must have felt when she discovered your marriage — what a 
blow to all her hopes — how bitter to know that her only 
child could so deceive her!^^ 

Dulcie listened in moody silence; she would neither reply 
nor defend herself. 

“ Think, pursued Eeine, after a moment^s pause, 
“ what an embarrassing position it is for her to take about 
an apparently elegible daughter who attracts attention aud 
admiration, and to feel that she is aiding a deception. 
Think of her annoyance last winter when Mr. Temple 
persisted in regarding her as the willful destroyer of his 
hopes. Think of her vexation every time a fresh suitor 
appears. There is Mr. Lister now making himself unhap- 
py about you. If he knew the truth he would not have 
thought of you for a moment. Eemember that your moth- 
er is a woman with a very strong sense pi honor, and all 
this dissimulation is extremely painful and annoying to 
her. 

Still no answer. Eeine began to get a little impatient, 
but struggled to conceal it, and spoke more kindly still. 

“ Dear Dulcie, you know this state of things can not go 
on : you have no right to make your mother miserable. ” 

Dulcie burst out at last: 

“ All I want is to get away from her. Why can not I 
live with Anna Leslie? I would rather be a governess than 
go on living with mamma.” 

'“ You forget how people talk,” answered Eeine. 
“ What would they say if you, the only child of a devoted 
mother, left her house and went to live elsewhere?” 

“ Mamma hates me,” said Dulcie; “ I know she does. 
And it is only because 1 have disappointed her ambition. 
She was always dinning it into my ears that a girl ought to 
make a good marriage. But for that I dare say I should 


240 


ONCE AGAIN. 


never have been tempted to do what I did. It was all her 
fault. 

‘‘ No/^ replied Heine, firmly, it was not your mother^s 
fault. It is quite natural that she should wish you to 
marry well. 

‘‘ She would not let me see Noel. She made me write 
and tell him that I was not to see him again. 

‘‘ And now,^'’ Heine could not resist saying, “it is you 
who will not see him. Perhaps your mother was not so 
wrong in not attributing any great importance to your 
fancy for him. 

Dulcie turned away pettishly. 

“ Oh, of course if you take mammals part it is no good 
my saying anything more. Every one is against me.^^ 
And she subsided into tears again. 

There was no more to be said after this. Heine tried in 
vain to pacify her, and soon after took her leave with the 
unpleasant consciousness of having utterly failed in her 
mission. Jack was waiting to escort her home. 

“ Have you seen Miss Vernon? he asked, eagerly, as 
they walked together down the drive. 

“Yes,^^ said Heine, assuming a light-hearted air that 
she was far from feeling. “We have had a little talk to- 
gether. I think her depression is caused by some little 
worry of which I can not tell you, but which is not con- 
nected with the cause you supposed.'’^ 

Jack felt a shade disappointed. He did not think that 
Mrs. Chandos was trying to throw dust in his eyes, but lie 
did think that her cousin had deceived her, for he could 
not forget the scene in the garden and Lister^s account of 
what he had witnessed. But he had far too much gentle- 
man-like feeling to insist, and, seeing that Mrs. Chandos 
showed no disposition to confide in him, he said, cheerily, 

“ I hope it will be all right, and that she will soon get 
over her worries. It is wonderful how small things can 
vex one sometimes. 

Heine thoroughly appreciated his delicacy of feeling in 
seeming to fall in with her views, and they chatted away 
amicably together as they pursued .their way to the dower 
house. She was fast coming round to the good opinion of 
him which she affected to deride in her friend, and con- 
trasted him constantly in her mind with those other two 
men at whose hands she had suffered so much — her father. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


241 


selfish, exacting, irritable, her husband violent and coarse. 
Both these had had their home manner and their company 
manner, like a good many more of their sex — could be de- 
lightful in society and keep their ill temper for home con- 
sumption; but Sir John was always the same — kind, cheery, 
anxious for the comfort of those about him, and thoroughly 
unselfish. He was as courteous to his mother and sister as 
to every other lady, and betrayed none of the rude 
familiarity, the oblivion of small politeness, with which 
some sons and brothers distinguish between the women who 
belong to them and those who are not of their kin. That 
evening the party from the dower house dined at the Hall, 
and quite accidentally some wrong impressions were given 
to several of the company. 

It happened that Lilah had one of her headaches and was 
not well enough to appear at dinner. Eeine, who felt par- 
ticularly sorry for the poor little invalid, and whose sympa- 
thetic nature made her ever anxious to soothe and relieve 
suffering, asked permission to go and see her. 

“ I have been thought, she said to Mrs. Chester, to 
have some mesmeric power in my fingers, and once or twice 
I have been successful in alleviating pain."’-’ 

Mrs. Chester hesitated, divided betw^een the desire not to 
seem unappreciative of her guesk’s kindness and the fear 
that Lilah might decline with scant graciousness to receive 
a comparative stranger. She thanked Eeine cordially first, 
and then said, with some diffidence. 

Poor dear Lilah is a little inclined to be fretful in her 
suffering. I hope you will not be vexed if she — 

Here Mrs. Chester paused. 

“ I will come away at once,^^ interposed Eeine, if my 
presence seems unwelcome to her. 

Mrs. Chester led the way to Lilah^s pretty sitting-room, 
which it was her great pleasure to adorn and decorate. It 
was full of pretty things, contributed, for the most part, 
by her mother and brother. 

She was lying on a couch, looking wan and weary, her 
brows contracted by suffering, and an expression of queru- 
lous discontent on her poor little white face. She was not 
asleep, but, as the door opened softly, she did not unclose 
her eyes, but gave herself a pettish twist expressive of re- 
sentment at the intrusion, although she was wont to be ex- 
tremely indignant if she fancied herself forgotten or 


24:2 


ONCE AGAIK. 


neglected. She thought it was her mother and Grace, and 
vouchsafed them no notice. Eeine stole softly to tlie back 
of the couch and laid her fingers gently on the hot brow. 

‘‘ Who is that?'' cried Lilah, opening her eyes wide in an 
instant. Eeine did not remove her hand. Mrs. Chester 
looked a little frightened. She feared Lilah was going to 
be ungracious. 

“ It is I," whispered Eeine, softly. 

Lilah did not shake off the touch, as her mother ex- 
pected, but merely sighed and said, 

“ Ah, I knew it was different from any one I was used 
to." Then, after a minute, Thank you: I like it. " 

Eeine continued to pass her slim fingers lightly to and 
fro on, not over, the brow and head of the little sufferer, 
and gradually the weary, discontented expression died out 
of Lilah 's face, to the unspeakable delight and gratitude 
of the mother. When Eeine saw that her charm was work- 
ing, she whispered to Mrs. Chester, 

‘‘Will you not go back to the drawing-room and leave 
me here?" 

“ I am so afraid of your tiring yourself," rephed Mrs. 
Chester, with divided feelings of gratitude and politeness. 

“ I can go on for hours without getting tired," said 
Eeine. “You see it is no effort: I scarcely move my 
arm. " 

“Yes, mother, go," interrupted Lilah. “And don't 
let any one come in. I think I shall go to sleep." 

Mrs. Chester prepared to obey. 

“ Do not send any one until I ring or go down to the 
drawing-room," urged Eeine; and Mrs. Chester, with whis- 
pered thanks, retired on tiptoe. 

In twenty minutes, Lilah was fast asleep; but still Eeine 
remained at the head of the couch, almost imperceptibly 
moving her fingers to and fro. Nothing in the world gave 
lier so much pleasure as to soothe pain : it was long since 
she had spent so pleasant an evening as this, in the dark- 
ened chamber, with Lilah sleeping serenely under her 
touch. 

Meantime Mrs. Chester was on tenter-hooks in the draw- 
ing-room lest Mrs. Chandos should be tired herself, and it 
required the strongest assurances from Mrs. Herbert that 
if there was one occupation more delightful to her friend 
than another, it was the one in which she was at present 


OKCE AGAIH. 


m 


enp^aged. As for Jack, his heart was suffused with delight 
and tenderness at the thought of this divine trait of good- 
ness in his idol : would not his mother soon come round to 
his way of thinking when it was proved to her what an 
angel Mrs. Chandos was? He was seated next Dulcie, 
playing a round game, and the joy that was in his heart 
smiled in his face, and he looked so tenderly at and spoke 
so softly to her that three of the party present gave him 
credit for entertaining feelings for Dulcie which were 
really bestowed on Eeine. A pang shot through poor 
Graders jealous heart, Henry Bertram said to himself that, 
for once, Mrs. Herbert's penetration had been at fault, and 
Mrs. Chester hugged herself with a delighted belief that he 
was at last awaking to the attractions of this dear girl. 
Her affection for Dulcie had never wavered: she had always 
thought of her as a suitable and charming wife for her dear 
son. As time wore on and Mrs. Chandos did not make her 
appearance, Mrs. Chester, after fidgeting about a good 
deal, went up again to Lilah’s room, in spite of her 
prohibition. 

Gentle as was her entrance, Lilah unclosed her eyes, but 
not peevishly or fretfully this time. Her face wore a 
smile. 

‘‘ Oh, I have had such a beautiful sleep!^^ she said, and, 
raising herself on her elbow, she turned to look at Reine. 

“ How kind you are! my headache is quite gone. Thank 
you so much! Will you kiss me?^^ 

Eeine kissed her very kindly. 

“ I am so glad, my dear, to have done you good. When 
your head aches again, you must send for me. 

Mrs. Chester could scarcely find words in which to ex- 
press her gratitude, she was so happy about both her chil- 
dren to-night, and they were the one thought and care of 
her existence. 

Lilah made Eeine promise that she would come very 
soon again to see her, and kissed her once more at parting 
— a very unusual show of affection on the part of the little 
invalid. 

The card-party had broken up when Eeine entered the 
drawing-room, and Mrs. Herbert's carriage was just being 
announced. 

“ It is such a glorious night !’^ said Eeine. Mia, should 
you mind if I were to walk home with Henry? 


244 


OKCE AGAIN. 


“ Really, my dear, I hardly know,^^ laughed Mrs. Her- 
bert. “ It is moonlight, and you are so romantic.''^ 

Don^t you think Henry's prosaicness will counterbal- 
ance my romance?" asked Reine, gayly. 

“ Perhaps," assented her friend. “ Well, I suppose I 
must give my consent." 

As Jack was putting Mrs. Chandos's cloak round her, 
he whispered, with enthusiasm, 

“ How good you have been to poor little Lilah! How 
can we thank you enough?" 

All his admiration came streaming through his blue eyes, 
and Reine would indeed have been blind had she failed to 
observe it. The clasp in which he held her hand told even 
more tales. ^ 

Mrs. Chandos was not altogether displeased. She had 
begun to feel a very sincere liking for the kind-hearted, 
amiable young fellow. 

Jack stood on the steps, looking longingly and rather 
sadly after the retreating figures of Bertram and Reine. 
He would have given worlds to have walked back with 
them, but was deterred from offering his company by the 
fear of seeming intrusive. He was not jealous of 13ertram 
now, and thought him the best fellow in the world, but in 
his honest, diffident heart he could not help feeling a pain- 
ful consciousness of his own inferiority to the clever man of 
the world, and thinking how very much more congenial 
Bertram's companionship must be to Mrs. Chandos than 
liis own. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Lilah could talk of nothing but Mrs. Chandos and her 
marvelous mesmeric powers. Hhe made the various mem- 
bers of the household try their hands at mesmerizing her, 
but dismissed them all with impatient contempt. Johnnie, 
she declared, had the nearest approach to tlie mesmeric 
touch, but he was leagues away from Mrs. Chandos. We 
may imagine how delighted he was at this compliment, and 
with what pleasure he sat and listened to Lilah's praises of 
liis dear lady. He did not say very much in response: the 
fact was, he was afraid of saying too much. 

Two or three days later Mrs. Chandos again paid a visit 


OKCE AGAIK. 


245 


to Lilah in her boudoir, by particular request of the young 
lady — not to exercise the office of healing medium on this 
occasion, but to have what Lilah called a nice talk. 

“ I have a great favor to ask you,^^ said the girl, when 
Eeine had been with her a few minutes — ‘‘ a great favor. 
Dear Mrs. Chandos, will you promise to grant it?^^ 

‘‘I think I may promise,'’^ smiled Eeine. ‘‘I do not 
suppose you would ask anything very impossible of me. 
Lilah lowered her voice, and said, coaxingly — 

I want to read your poetry. Will you lend it to me?’^ 
Eeine hesitated. She felt that she could not comply 
with this request, and for the first time the thought struck 
her unpleasantly that she would not like this young girl to 
read what she had written. She had been indignant with 
critics who had found fault with the moral tone of her 
verses; she had declared that it was absurd to suppose that 
authors and poets were to be trammeled in their writings 
by the consideration whether what they wrote was suited to 
school-girls; but at this moment it smote her sharply to 
think that her poetry was not what she would care to put 
into Lilah ^s hands. 

Lilah saw her hesitation, and said, quickly — 

You are thinking that mamma would not like it. But 
mamma is not to know. She has such old-fashined ideas, 
and thinks everything dreadful. But,^^ confidentially, “ I 
have read heaps of things she does not know of. I found a 
volume of S win burners poems once in a hotel — some one 
had left it behind— and I took it to bed with me and read 
every word. Oh, it was lovely; but J am quite sure yours 
could not be half so improper as those, could they?-’^ 

“ My dear,^^ said Eeine, gravely, without replying to the 
latter part of Lilah ^s remarks, ‘‘ I could not think of lend- 
ing you my poems if your mother disapproves of them. 
But how do you know that she does? Has she read them?^^ 
“ Oh, yes,"’"’ replied Lilah. “ She got them at Nice, and 
was in an awful state of mind about them. I don^t mind 
telling you, because it will make you laugh. She was in 
the greatest fright that Johnnie was going to fall in love 
with you, and she thought you did not believe in anything 
and would take him headlong to perdition, and they had an 
awful scene about it. Y"ou know I would not tell you this, 
only I tliought it would amuse you, because, of course, 
though we think there is no one like our dear, darling 


m 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Jolmnie, you would not look at him^ because be is not 
clever like you. 

One might have imagined that, as Lilah was a shrewd 
little person, she would have been aware that her words 
could not inspire any very pleasurable emotion in the 
breast of her hearer; but there was a curious little twist in 
her nature that made it agreeable to her to shoot occasional 
arrows at friends as well as foes. 

Reine experienced one of the most disagreeable sensations 
she had ever known in her life. To feel that she was looked 
upon in such a light by so excellent, if narrow-minded, a 
woman as Mrs. Chester, was mortifying to her in the ex- 
treme, conscious as she was of her own purity and recti- 
tude of intention and principle. To be regarded in the 
light in which it was evident Mrs. Chester regarded her 
was a bitter blow both to her vanity and her heart. It 
cost her one of the greatest efforts she had ever made in 
her life to smile and assume a tolerably indifferent tone as 
she said — 

I am very sorry, my dear, but, under the circumstances, 
I can not possibly do what you ask. I would on no ac- 
count lend you any book without your mother’s sanction, 
far less one of which you tell me she disapproves so strong- 
ly.” 

Lilah had a suspicion that she had been indiscreet, and 
tried to make amends. 

“ I hope you are not vexed,” she said. I ought not 
to have said anythiug about it. But mamma is so dread- 
fully religious and so strict in her ideas that she thinks 
every one who does not believe the Bible right through 
from beginning to end must be lost. I have often,” look- 
ing a little frightened at her own words, “ thought there 
were things in it which were unnatural and contradicted 
each other, and, oh! I should so like to talk about it to 
some one clever who understands these things. Life is so 
unfair and hard on some peojDle; I don’t see how one can 
be expected to think it is all right, and to be thankful for 
one’s misery. ” 

‘‘ My dear child,” said Reine, compassionately, “ if you 
do not want to be very unhappy, do not encourage doubts 
or begin to ask questions. Believe what you have believed 
and been taught in your childhood, or you will prepare a 
great deal of misery for yourself. We poor mortals can not 


ONCE AGAIN. 


247 


discover tlie truth for ourselves, aud we are far more like- 
ly to be happy if we submit our judgment, even a little 
against the grain sometimes, than if we insist on knowing, 
or rather trying to know, the why and wherefore of every- 
thing. We never shall know it; no one has ever known it; 
and a hundred clever minds will evolve a hundred different 
theories from a life-time of research. Few women can swim 
out boldly into the sea of speculation;' most of us only suc- 
ceed in wetting our feet with the little waves on the shore 
and making ourselves thoroughly uncomfortable. 

“ When did you first begin to have doubtsr^^ asked 
Lilah, eagerly; but Mrs. Chandos ref used altogether to con- 
tinue the discussion. She was extremely glad when, a few 
minutes later, Mrs. Herbert came into the room with Grace, 
and soon afterward they took their leave. During the re- 
mainder of the afternoon, and at dinner, Reine was silent 
and distraite : truth to tell, Lilah^s arrow was rankling ter- 
ribly in her mind. Mrs. Herbert saw that something had 
vexed her friend, but made no remark, hoping that Eeine 
would tell her what was passing in her mind. When they 
were sitting together in the veranda, and Reine still made 
no sign, she said — 

“ It is not kind of you, my love, to have secrets from me. 
What has vexed your” 

Reine did not answer for a moment; then she said, with 
a ruffled gesture — 

“ Yes, I am vexed — horribly vexed. It is, I dare say, a 
very slight and unimportant matter; perhaps it is only my 
vanity that is hurt, but it is hurt, and I can not help feel- 
ing annoyed and disgusted. Then, with a slight increase 
of color in her cheek, she repeated to her friend what Lilah 
had said. 

Mrs. Herbert was extremely indignant. 

‘‘ I never liked that girl,” she said. “ She is a spiteful 
little cat, and always has her claws out ready to scratch. 

‘‘ Poor little thing!” said Reine, kindly. “ I do not for 
a moment suppose she meant to hurt me.” 

Nonsense!” returned Mrs. Herbert. “ She is anything 
but stupid, and it is only very stupid people who hurt the 
feelings of others without being aware of it. I have not 
the smallest doubt that jealousy prompted her in what she 
said.” 

Indeed, dear Mia, I think you are too hard on her. It 


248 


ONCE AGAIN. 


was a little want of tact, perhaps, but nothing more. I 
really can not help laughing,'” but she looked more angry 
than amused, “ at the idea of that excellent woman being 
alarmed lest her son should be entrapped by such a danger- 
ous creature as myself. It is something new to me to be 
looked upon as a sort of Scarlet Lady.-’-’ 

And Heine gave an abrupt, contemptuous little laugh, 
quite unsuggestive of mirth. She was working herself up 
into a state of anger and felt the want of a victim. Her 
strong sense of justice passed into abeyance for the time. 

I beg, Mia, that you will not invite Sir John here again 
whilst I remain. You see, you little know what daggers 
you have been planting in the breast of his worthy mother. 
Fancy me in the role of seducer and corrupter of an inno- 
cent young country squire. 

By this time she was very angry, and Mrs. Herbert had 
a melancholy presentiment that all her little ingenious 
schemes had been overthrown by the odious sister of her 
favorite. She, too, felt the want of a victim, and made 
Lilah hers. She resolved then and there to give Sir John 
a hint of the mischief which Lilah had worked. 

“ l)o not talk such nonsense, my dear,^^ she said, with 
some sharpness. “ The girl exaggerated; in fact, I dare 
say she invented the whole story. Nothing, I am sure, 
could be more cordial than the manner in which Mrs. 
Chandos spoke to me of you and your kindness to Lilah. 

Heine did not answer for sometime: then she said, look- 
ing away into the distance and speaking in a thoughtful 
voice — 

“ After all, perhaps it was a mistake to have published 
those poems. I dare say they have done me a great deal 
of harm and given people very wrong ideas about me. Jm- 
agine,^^ with a smile which had more bitter than sweet in 
it, “a very religious elderly woman, with all the correct 
old-fashioned opinions, sitting down in cold blood to pro- 
nounce judgment upon my poor ‘ Verses from the South,^ 
written at fever-heat of passionate misery, the outcome of 
a vivid imagination worked up to its highest pitch! No! I 
see it now. The folly was not, perhaps, in writing them, 
because it gave me a kind of relief and happiness, but in 
sending them out to the world. Mia, you are a sensible 
woman — why did you not advise me against publisliing 
them.^^^ 


OKCE AGAIN*. 


249 


Why should I have done so?^^ retorted Mrs. Herbert. 

They are charming and full of genius, and they have 
given you fame.^^ 

Fame worth having!’^ exclaimed Reine, bitterly. A 
handle to every ill-natured person to accuse me of immor- 
ality and infidelity, and to make a really good woman look 
with dread and horror upon my possible influence over her 
son. No! I will do to-morrow what I have often thought 
of doing before; I will buy up all that are to be bought, 
and make them into a bonfire. 

“ You talk like a pettish child,^’ returned Mrs. Herbert. 
“ I hope you will do nothing of the sort.’^ 

But the very next day Mrs. Ohandos, without saying a 
word to her friend, wrote and gave the order for the calling 
in of her poems. 

Mrs. Herbert did her utmost to soothe Reiners ruffled 
plumage, but she was perfectly conscious of her want of 
success and sorely vexed about it. She was more vexed 
still to observe the change in Reine’s manner to Sir John 
when he next came to the dower house. He, poor fellow, 
had been so exulting in her altered demeanor to him of 
late, and was stupefied when he perceived this lapse into a 
colder and more indifferent manner than she had ever 
shown him before. 

‘‘ What have I done?^^ he cried, in despair, the moment 
ho was left alone with Mrs. Herbert. ‘ ‘ How is it possible 
that I can have offended Mrs. Chandos?” 

Mrs. Herbert, as she had resolved, told him what Lilah 
had said to Reine. She really hoped that he would give 
the little mischief-maker a severe lecture on her indiscre- 
tion and malice. 

Poor Jack sat stupefied with misery and indignation. To 
think that Mrs. Ohaiidos, whom he placed on so exalted a 
pedestal, should have been wounded and insulted by a mem- 
ber of his family; that she at whose feet he humbly wor- 
shiped, in full consciousness of his own inferiority, should 
have been given to understand that she was not thought 
worthy of him! No words could express his bitter mortifi-'* 
cation. Most men, under the circumstances, would not 
have rested until they had wreaked their wrath on the per- 
son who had injured them; but Jack knew that he could 
say nothing to Lilah in anger; whatever she did, her weak- 


250 


OKCE AGAIN. 


ness and suffering must shield her from any outbreak of 
wrath on his part. 

Mrs. Herbert said everything in her power to soothe and 
comfort him; she was quite vexed to see with what dread- 
ful seriousness he took the matter, as though he then and 
there abandoned hope forever. 

“ What must she think of us?^^ he reiterated, as though 
Keine were a sovereign and he and his family had been 
found guilty of Use-majesU. 

‘‘ She will forget it,^'^ said Mrs. Herbert. “ Heine has a 
generous mind and is not at all vindictive. 

But Jack was not to be comforted. It seemed impossi- 
ble that she should ever forgive such a wanton insult. For 
the first time he shrunk from seeing her, and resolutely de- 
clined Mrs. Herbert’s invitation to stay to lunch. 

Mrs. Herbert could not forbear telling Heine of his dis- 
tress, and the latter lady said, not without warmth — 

“ My dear Mia, I really think that for once you have 
been wanting in tact to tell Sir John anything about the 
matter.” 

“Perhaps,” retorted her friend, “ you are not aware 
how chilling your manner was to the poor fellow. No one 
could help remarking it, and he asked me what it meant 
the moment you left the room.” 

“ I should be sorry,” said Heine, with a touch of temper, 
“ if he imagined that I cared the very least what either he 
or his family think of me.” 

“ You are not generally unjust,” rejoined Mrs. Herbert, 
“ and it is unjust to punish a man who is devoted to you 
for what a peevish, disagreeable little girl said.” 

Mrs. Herbert paused, afraid she had gone too far in 
speaking of Jack’s devotion. 

But Mrs. Chandos did not appear to have remarked the 
expression. 

Meantime, poor Jack was utterly miserable. So miser- 
able was he that the habitual cheery expression completely 
deserted his face, and it was patent to every one at the Hall 
that some dreadful misfortune had befallen him. 

Lilah had a sort of frightened intuition of what had hap- 
pened, and, fearful of explanations, forbore to remark his 
dejection; but his mother was seriously concerned, and 
cast wistful glances at him from time to time. In the 
evening, no longer able to bear the suspense, she waited up 


ONCE AGAIN. 35 1\ 

after every one else had retired, and went to seek him in 
his own room. 

“ My dearest boy/^ she said, tremulously, all her moth- 
erly affection gleaming in her eyes, “ I fear something has 
happened to distress you. Pray, my dear,"*^ laying a hand 
tenderly on his arm, “ if you have any trouble, do not keep 
it from me! Who can feel for you like your mother?^^ 

Jack was not so much touched by this tender appeal as 
he might have been under other circumstances. He could 
not forget that it was through his mother, if indirectly, 
that this trouble had come upon him. 

He did not answer for a moment; then, as she urged 
him, he said, in a colder tone than she had ever heard 
from his lips — 

‘‘ It is very hard that my own family should take it upon 
themselves to insult the woman I love best in the world. 

The words contained a double blow to Mrs. Chester. 
The first was the intimation that he, after all, loved Mrs. 
Chandos; the second, the horror of any one having been 
insulted by her or hers. 

“ Insulted!^^ she exclaimed, trembling with agitation. 

What can you possibly mean?” 

The most veracious people, we know, are tempted to ex- 
aggerate at times, and it is possible that Mrs. Herbert un- 
consciously added a little to Eeine'^s recital. Jack, carried 
away by his feelings, made the most of what had been told 
him, and poor Mrs. Cliester was positively appalled to think 
that Lilah should have dared to repeat to Mrs. Chandos 
her opinion of that lady^s poetry and her fears for her son. 
She felt thoroughly humiliated, and scarcely knew what to 
say to Jack, who stood looking at her with a disturbed and 
angry face. 

Indeed!’^ cried the poor lady, at last. “ I could not 
have believed Lilah capable of behaving in so improper and 
unfeeling a manner. I shall tell her very plainly my opin- 
ion of her conduct, and I must think what apology 1 can 
make to Mrs. Chandos for the insult that has been offered 
her under my roof. ” 

“ JSTo, mother,"^ said Jack, decisively. ‘‘ Say nothing to 
Lilah. She is a great sufferer. I do not think we can 
hold her accountable like other people. And, after all,^^ 
with some bitterness — “ it was true. You said all that, 
and more, about Mrs. Chandos/^ 


252 


OKCE AGAIK. 


His mother was silent. She could not deny it, but she 
was extremely anxious not to irritate her son or increase 
his trouble. 

“ You must indeed be hard to please,^-’ he went on, with 
some excitement: “ a woman who is as good and kind as 
an angel, and the most perfect and pure-minded lady that 
ever breathed.’’’ 

Poor Mrs. Chester dared not say, as she would fain have 
done, that these qualities availed nothing against the ab- 
sence of religion in a woman. Though, since she had seen 
more of Peine and observed that she went to church and 
behaved with great apparent reverence and devoutness 
when there, her prejudice had been considerably shaken. 
Still, she could not forget that Mrs. Chandos had written 
poetry she disapproved of; that she had been divorced from 
her husband, absolutely blameless though she was in the 
matter; and that she was very nearly her son’s age — all of 
which circumstances made her in the mother’s opinion a 
most undesirable wife for him. 

But she would not vex him now by discussing these ob- 
jections, and contented herself by expressing extreme regret 
for what had happened; and finally they parted outwardly 
on friendly terms but inwardly sore at heart. 

Jack, who was wont to sleep from the moment he laid 
down his head on his pillow until he was called, passed a 
troubled night. By morning he had resolved that, how- 
ever difficult and painful the task, he would express to 
Mrs. Chandos his grief and regret for the insult she had 
received. 

He went down to the dower house soon after breakfast, 
intending to ask for an interview with Heine. But when 
he drew near the house he saw her seated alone under the 
cedar with a book in her hand. As he approached her and 
she read his suffering in his face, her kind heart was 
touched, and she received him pleasantly. 

He sat down beside her, and she made some trifling 
general remark with a view of putting him at his ease. He 
did not answer it: his heart was full of what he had come 
to say, though his tongue would not all at once give utter- 
ance to it. Suddenly he turned to her, the color flushing 
to his face. 

“ Mrs. Chandos,” he stammered, I am not clever at 
words, you must forgive me if I speak bluntly, but I have 


ONCE AGAIN. 


253 


never in my life been so cut up as at hearing that my 
sister had said such unpardonable things to you. Poor 
little girl! I can not think she meant any harm, and you 
are so good and kind that I beg and pray you to forgive 
her, because you know she is not quite like other people. 

Eeine put out her hand frankly to him. 

“ Do not say another word!^^ she said, smiling a kind, 
reassuring smile. ‘‘ I have forgotten it, and am only 
vexed that you should ever have heard of it. 

“ Oh!’^ gasped Jack, covering her hand with kisses, 
“ you are an angel ! But I can not forget it. To think 
that you, whom I love and respect more than any woman 
in the world — yes,'’^ as Eeine made a warning gesture — 

yes, passionately, “it must come out! I know I am 
nothing to you. I know it would be presumption and 
madness for me ever to think of you, except as some one 
far above me and out of my reach; but that does not pre- 
vent my loving and worshiping you with all my soul. Do 
not be angry with me!^^ as she drew her hand away: “ I 
expect nothing, I hope for nothing, but I beseech you to 
let me be your friend, your slave — anything, so that I may 
sometimes see you and be near you. 

“ Do not say any more!” uttered Eeine, very gently, 
and kindly. “You shall always be my friend. But now 
I want to tell you something which I hope will make you 
happier in your mind. I have never been very proud of 
my poetry, and I have often thought it might give people 
a wrong impression about me. I could see after you had 
read it that you did not approve of it.^^ 

He would have protested, but she silenced him by a ges- 
ture. 

“ And I can quite understand,^’ she went on, “ that it 
horrified your mother. It was written when I was suffering 
acutely and looked at things very likely in a morbid and 
distorted way. Writing soothed me at the time, but I have 
come to the conclusion that it was a mistake to publish 
those poems. I wrote yesterday and ordered that all the 
copies that can be procured are to be bought and sent to 
me. They will soon be forgotten; and that is the best fate 
for them.” 

Jack looked at her in mingled wonder and admiration. 
He felt no inclination to dissuade her from such a step: 


254 


ONCE AGAIN. 


nay, he rejoiced to think that alien eyes should not in the 
future read the impassioned words she had once written. 

Reine knew by intuition what was passing in his mind, 
and, if it gave a slight wound to her vanity, she felt no re-^ 
sentment against him, recognizing as she did the truth and' 
honesty of his heart. 

How he longed at that moment to pour forth all his de- 
votion and adoration before her! The most extravagant 
words would have seemed inadequate to express what he 
felt; but he had so great an awe of her, so deep a conscious- 
ness of his own inferiority, that he dared not let his lips 
plead for him. But his eyes were eloquent enough, and 
Heine was rather relieved at this juncture by the sight of 
Mrs. Herbert coming toward them across the lawn. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

December had come: Dulcie was again on a visit to the 
Fawcetts, and this time, as before, without her mother. 
They had been little together since they left the Hall, for 
the strain of their relations had become intolerable to both, 
and Mrs. Vernon preferred to risk the remarks of her 
friends, to living in a constant state of irritation and fear. 
Dulcie had spent the greater part of the autumn with Mrs. 
Leslie, who, always kind and cheery, felt very sorry for the 
girl and did her best to amuse and comfort her; and, 
after that, she had paid visits to one or two intimate 
friends. The elder of Mrs. Fawcett^s daughters had re- 
cently married, and Mary, the younger, who had always 
been fond of Dulcie, was delighted to have her to replace 
the sister whose companionship she missed so much. 

Dulcie was unquestionably improved by her sorrows. 
She had always been gentle and amiable, but now she 
seemed more thoughtful, more sympathetic: there was less 
of the butterfly about her. 

I used,^^ Mrs. Fawcett conflded to her husband, to 
think Dulcie rather silly and flighty; but she has improved 
amazingly since last year. I wish she and Charlie would 
take a fancy to each other. She will have a thousand a 
year when she comes of age, and more than treble that 
when her mother dies. 


OlfCE AGAIK. 255 

It would be very bandy for Charlie/^ replied her lord; 
‘‘ but I fear it is too great a bit of luck to come off/'’ 

It was a fatality that people would always insist on 
marrying and giving Dulcie in marriage; but it was hardly 
an exceptional case, for if a girl is pretty, good-tempered, 
and has a nice little fortune, she is likely to have as many 
candidates for her hand as Solomon had wives. 

Mary Fawcett and Dulcie, being great friends, always 
performed together the rite of brushing out their hair over 
each other^s bedroom fires, as is the wont of friends. 

On the evening when we meet Dulcie again after three 
months^ absence, Mary came into her room waving a silver 
brush in the dehghtf ul excitement consequent on having a 
piece of interesting news to communicate. 

“Oh, Dulcie! I have Just been hearing such a bit of 
news from Charlie! It is a profound secret: he made me 
swear not to tell any one, but of course I made a mental 
reservation in favor of you. He does not want father and 
mother to know, though it is bound to come out before 
very long. You remember that young Trevor who was 
staying here last winter? I used to think he was rather 
fond of you. 

It was convenient that Dulcie could use her hair as a veil 
to screen from her friend^s eyes the blush that covered her 
face at the abrupt mention of a name connected with such 
painful ideas and fraught with such bitter memories. 

“ He really is dreadfully unlucky. You know what an 
awful accident he had in the winter — was thrown out of a 
hansom and all but killed; and now he has got into the 
most fearful scrape in India and will have to leave the regi- 
ment. ’ ^ 

Dulcie^s heart beat fast. Mary had paused, apparently 
expecting some sign of interest from her auditor. 

“ Well?^^ said Dulcie, interrogatively, still keeping her 
hair over her face and making vigorous pretense of brush- 
ing. 

“ Well,^^ returned Mary, “ it seems that he went out to 
India in the same ship with his colonel’s wife. Charlie has 
met her. She is a fair, sentimental sort of woman, he says, 
a tremendous flirt, but a good deal older than Noel, and 
rather good-looking — made up very well, at least. And 
there has been an awful row, and the colonel has applied 
for a divorce, and Noel is to be co-respondent.’’ 


256 


OITCE AGAIN. 


Dulcie could not utter a word. Conflicting feelings were 
chasing each other through her mind. She did not know 
whether to be glad, sorry, indignant, or disgusted. She 
had fancied that he was too devoted to her to care for any 
other woman; but, with a bitter recollection of Alw3rne, 
she supposed men were all alike — a month was long enough 
for them to forget one woman in and to take up with 
another. Perhaps, now, she would be able to free herself 
from him, and, strange to say, the thought did not give 
her the rapture that one might have expected. I am not 
sure that in her heart she did not feel a slightly increased 
respect for and interest in her husband. 

Mary had paused, and was evidently disappointed that 
Dulcie did not take more interest in this very exciting piece 
of gossip. 

“You doiPt seem surprised!’^ she said, in rather a mor- 
tified tone. 

“lam never surprised at anything a man does,^^ replied 
Dulcie; “ that is, if it is anything bad.^^ 

“ Good gracious cried Mary, opening her eyes. “ The 
idea of your talking like that! As if you had ever had any 
experience of their badness!’^ 

“Oh, one hears enough, returned Dulcie. “ Here is 
an instance. This man that everybody thought so nice goes 
and does the meanest thing possible — pretended, I dare say^ 
to take care of her on the way out, and then — that is the 
end of it — he gets the wretched woman into trouble and 
ruins her life. 

Dulcie was surprised herself at the angry vehemence with 
which she spoke. 

“Charlie says,^^ resumed Mary, “that he believes it 
was all her doing. He says Noel wasnT that sort, but she 
was known to be a regular flirt, and he thinks very likely 
her husband wanted to get rid of her, and that it is a 
plant. Now I suppose, poor fellow, heTl have to marry 
her; and a nice thing that will be for him, to be tied to a 
woman years older than himself. He will have to leave 
the regiment, which will be an awful blow to him; and 
Charlie hears that he is coming home and going to ex- 
change.'’^ 

“ Did your brother tell you any tiling more?’^ asked Dul- 
cie, in rather a husky voice. 

“No: he did not know any more. He has not heard 


ONCE AGAIN. 


257 


from Noel himself, but thinks he is sure to write, as they 
are such friends. Very likely, poor fellow, he is not quite 
right in his head yet : they thought at one time he never 
would be. You know he came to our party in the season 
and had a fit there and was obliged to be taken home in a 
cab. I think you had left, though, before it happened. " 

^ Yes, I believe we had two or three parties that 
night,^^ answered Dulcie, hastily, for veracity, as we know, 
was not her strong point. 

‘‘ Anyhow, /ns career is done for,^^ said Mary, regretful- 
ly. “ If he had been rich or a swell he might have got out 
of it; but, as it is, he hasnH a chance. 

Dulcie sat over the fire long after her friend left her 
that night, wondering what would happen. The divorce, 
she supposed, would come on in England, and perhaps all 
would come out about Noel being a married man, and her 
name would be dragged in. She felt dreadfully perturbed 
in her mind, atid would have given the world to have had 
some friend to confide in and of whom she could ask coun- 
sel. She was indignant against Noel: it was the first time 
she had recognized the fact that he belonged to her. He 
had pretended at Brighton to be broken-hearted about her, 
and a month later he could console himself with a married 
woman. And he was coming back to England! Well, in 
any case, after this he would not dare to approach her: 
that was one comfort. 

But Dulcie felt wounded in spirit. Little less than a 
year ago both he and Alwyne had seemed so passionately in 
love with her that it had appeared impossible they should 
think of any other woman; and now one was married and 
apparently devoted to his wife, and the other had ruined 
his career for the sake of a woman who, according to 
Mary^s account, was neither young nor in any way desir- 
able. She was glad, Dulcie told herself, with unusual bit- 
terness of feeling, that she was cut ofi from any more 
intimate relations with men in the future, and not likely to 
suffer from their treachery and changeableness. Of course 
after this she would never have anything to say to Noel. 
Perhaps if he had not behaved in this shameful way she 
might in time have been reconciled to the idea of being his 
wife, but now he had by his own act put that utterly out of 
the question. Dulcie, who was not naturally vindictive, 
thought that she would like to have the opportunity of tell- 


258 


ONCE AGAIN. 


ing him what she thought of his behavior. It was a com- 
fort that that horrid creature who had, no doubt, counted 
on marrying him would be disappointed. Dulcie went to 
bed extremely perturbed in her mind, and it was a long 
time before sleep came to soothe her angry and excited feel- 
ings. The wrong we do others and the wrong they do us 
present themselves to us in such very disproportionate 
lights. 

Dulcie ^s visit to the Fawcetts came to an end without 
her hearing anything more of Noel or the impending 
divorce. If Mary heard anything she would be sure to tell 
her, Dulcie thought; and she was afraid of asking any 
question, for fear of exciting suspicion. She went to spend 
Christmas with Mrs. Leslie. Her mother was far from 
well: the nervous excitement and irritation of the last 
twelve months had preyed seriously on her spirits, and she 
had, besides, suffered for some weeks from a bronchial 
catarrh. Se had begged Heine as a very great favor to ac- 
company her, at all events for a month or two, to the south 
of France, and Heine had given up another engagement to 
comply with her request, feeling seriously concerned about 
her aunCs health and very sorry for her mental disquietude. 

It had been arranged that Dulcie should divide her time 
during her mother’s absence between Mrs. Leslie and the 
Fawcetts. It was alleged as the reason for her not accom- 
panying Mrs. Vernon that she disliked being abroad, and 
that the climate of the Hiviera had not suited her the pre- 
vious winter. 

Dulcie had not been long with Mrs. Leslie before she 
confided to her Noel’s iniquity, and that sprightly lady 
took an immense interest in the recital, and refiected to 
herself that it was quite possible this shocking behavior on 
his part might pique Dulcie into taking more interest in 
him, even though at first it might be interest of an adverse 
kind. She made great allowances for him in her own 
mind, which was perhaps a little too liberal and tolerant in 
her regard for masculine weakness. She said to herself — 

‘‘ But what on earth could the girl expect? He was de- 
voted to her, and she treated him shamefully and told him 
plainly that her only desire in life was to get rid of him and 
marry another man; and yet she is surprised that after 
this he should presume to look at a woman, instead of 
spending the rest of his life in regretting her.” She put. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


259 


this in a mild way before Dulcie, who refused to admit any 
excuse for him, though perhaps in her own mind she may 
have been aware that Mrs. Leslie ^s ideas were far from un- 
reasonable. 

Her meeting with Alwyne had had one beneficial result. 
She no longer thought of him in the romantic way that she 
had previously done, nor could she lay the flattering unc- 
tion to her soul that he was indifferent to his wife or pining 
after her. She did not confide to Mrs. Leslie the meeting 
with Alwyne; her vanity was too sore on the subject, and 
perhaps her heart, for there is no question that she had 
given him all that she had of love. 

She spent part of January with Mrs. Leslie at Brighton, 
and one morning when she had been alone to visit her 
aunt, who lived near Kemp Town, she, on leaving the 
house, crossed the road, and seated herself on one of the 
embrasured seats overlooking the sea, similar to that on 
which the tragic little scene with Noel had been enacted. 
It was a still morning; the sky was a clear, pale blue, and 
the sun gleamed golden on the little rippling waves which 
a faint breeze stirred. Dulcie felt very lonely as she re- 
called the summer morning when she had been so hard to 
Noel because of his rival. Yes, she admitted that she had 
been hard to him, and she remembered for the first time, 
with a twinge of pity, how sad and miserable he had 
looked. And what was his offense? Could he help that 
dreadful accident which had caused him months of suffer- 
ing? Then, just as she was growing to pity and to feel 
some softness toward him, she remembered with a flush 
about the coloneLs wife, and how short a time it had taken 
him to console himself. She shut up her heart against him 
in a moment, and, rising abruptly, walked hastily home to 
rejoin Mrs. Leslie. 

Mrs. Vernon had recovered from her bronchitis, but she 
did not intend returning to England before the end of 
March. She had met many pleasant friends at Cannes, 
and was thoroughly enjoying the life. Above all things 
she appreciated the relief of being away from Dulcie. She 
no longer felt angry or bitter against her — she was thank- 
ful to hear that she was well and cheerful — but she felt 
that for both their sakes it was better they should be apart 
until they could again take up the threads of life together. 
When she allowed her mind to dwell on the matter, Avhich 


2G0 


ONCE AGAIN. 


she very seldom did, the future looked as blank and im- 
possible as ever. What was to be the end of it? and would 

the wretched husband/^ as she called Noel to herself, 
continue tamely to submit to being kicked out of his wife^s 
life, or would he at some time or other assert and vindicate 
his rights? She and Reine had talked it over once or twice; 
but, as neither knew anything of Noeks nature and tem- 
perament, and both had been so entirely surprised by Dul- 
cie^s unaccountable and unreasonable conduct, they could 
only indulge in speculations which they felt to be un- 
profitable. 

Reine had left her aunt now, and was in Florence. Jack 
had confided to Mrs. Herbert the little scene that had 
taken place between him and Mrs. Chan d os, and had, with 
a burning face, recounted his own temerity, and Mrs. Her- 
bert had drawn not unfavorable augury from the fact that, 
after this rash act of his, Reine had not snubbed him nor 
treated him with haughtiness, but had been quite as friend- 
ly as before, if not more so. When she saw Reine, just 
before she went abroad, Jack^s champion ventured to say a 
word on his behalf, which Mrs. Ohandos received with 
smiling toleration, but when her friend dwelt on the depths 
of his feelings the younger lady affected to make light of 
them and refused to discuss the subject seriously. Still, 
Mrs. Herbert saw indications that Reine was getting some- 
what weary of a wandering life, and that she felt painfully 
at times the loneliness of her lot and a yearning toward the 
ties of home and family. 

February had come, and Dulcie, according to promises 
exchanged, had returned to spend a month with the Faw- 
cetts. The first week of her return the house was very 
quiet, but the one following there was to be a ball in the 
house — a country ball and a hunt ball; so that it would be 

very gay time, indeed. Charlie Fawcett was in London, 
and was to return on the Monday, bringing a couple of 
friends with him. Two young ladies were to arrive the 
same day, and the house would be full of guests. Mary 
was in great spirits, anticipating immense pleasure from 
the coming gayeties; and Dulcie, whose spirits were much 
improved of late, entered cheerfully into her friend^s feel- 
ings, and was ready to talk about the coming festivities to 
Mjiry’s heart’s content. 

Monday came, and Mrs. Fawcett with her daughter and 


o^rcE actAtn-. 


2C1 


Dulcie were in the morning-roDm after breakfast. She was 
writing a letter; the two girls were arranging flowers. 

A telegram was brought in, and Mrs. Fawcett, having 
glanced over it, communicated its contents to her compan- 
ions without turning her head. 

‘‘It is from Charlie,^^ she said. “ ‘ Byng,^ reading 
aloud, “‘can not come. Have asked Trevor. Just back 
from India. ^ 

Dulcie trembled violently; she felt as if she must faint. 
Fortunately, Mary had run to look over her mother^s 
shoulder to make quite sure that she had read the name 
correctly, and Dulcie had time to compose herself. A mo- 
ment later she left the room and went upstairs. She sat 
down in the nearest chair and looked vacantly -into space. 
What should she do? How could she possibly avoid this 
dreadful meeting? It soon became obvious to her that she 
could not avoid it. It was impossible to make any plausible 
excuse for leaving the gayeties for which she had expressly 
come. Perhaps, she thought, Charlie would tell Noel that 
she was a guest in the house, and then, of course, if he had 
any gentlemanlike feeling, he would invent a pretext for 
staying away even at the last moment. 

When she returned to the morning-room she found Mary 
alone. 

“It is awfully daring of Charlie, I think, said the 
young lady, “ to ask Mr. Trevor here under the circum- 
stances. Mamma will be furious with him when she knows 
what has happened. I really wonder at him.^^ 

“ Yes,^^ returned Dulcie, with what calmness she could 
muster. “ And it is sure to come out sooner or later. 
Such a disgraceful affair, too!^' 


CHAPTER XXXL 

We must retrace our steps in order to pick up one of the 
threads of the story and go back to poor Noel after his last 
interview with the wife who rejected and repudiated him. 
He was as nearly heart-broken as ever was a kind-hearted, 
affectionate young fellow ’wlio adored a woman in vain. 
All the delightful visions which had cheered his convalescent 
hours, of having his darling restored to his longing arms, 
were rudely shattered; in vain he reminded himself of his 


4 


262 


OKCE AGAIN. 


rights — of the fact that she was his lawful wife, and that 
he could compel her to live with him. But the poor lad 
had not counted on a captive, an unwilling victim. Surely 
if any man ever had reason to believe that he was beloved 
for himself, it was, up to the moment of his terrible awak- 
ening, Noel. He was poor, of small social importance, and 
his bride had given up a happy, luxurious home for his 
sake, and had been ready to go with him into the wide 
world, to face poverty with him and to follow whatever 
fortune might be his. 

Noel was too chivalrous of heart to lay the blame on her; 
indeed, it is very difficult to make a good-hearted young 
man believe anything against his idol; he was much more 

E rone to beheve that devilish arts and machinations had 
een practiced on her guileless mind, either by Alwyne or 
her mother. She had probably, in the first place, been in- 
fluenced against him, and had then fallen a prey to the 
man who now exercised this dreadful influence over her. 
And, as we know, these suspicions and surmises were not 
very wide of the mark. 

There was only one thing for him to do now, and that 
was to get away. She was his; but he would not claim 
her, since she was unwilling; he had no taste for a woman 
who loathed and revolted against his caresses, he only hun- 
gered for her love. The future was a blank to him; on 
what would happen in the days to come he could not even 
attempt to speculate;, the only thought which smiled upon 
him now was that in which he pictured the possibility of a 
soldier ^s death. Since he might not live for her, how glad- 
ly would he die for his love! But there was the bitterness 
of leaving her to another; and few men are heroictenough 
to efface themselves from a woman^s life in order that she 
may repose happily on the breast of a rival. Sore, indeed, 
was the poor fellow's heart as he made arrangements to 
leave his country, and with it hope and all he had counted 
upon to make life dear. A draft of his regiment was on 
the eve of going out, and it happened that the officer ap- 
pointed to take it had particular reason for wishing to re- 
main in England, so the exchange was effected easily 
enough. 

The first person he met on board ship was Mrs. Frank- 
lin, the wife of his colonel. Noel had never seen very 


ONCE AGAIN. 


263 


much of her; he was aware that she had the reputation of 
being given to flirtation, and that her husband was reported 
to be jealous of her. Meeting her in his voyage out in- 
spired him with no feeling of any kind; he was neither 
pleased nor sorry to find her his traveling-companion; all 
women save one were absolutely indifferent to him. It was 
not so with Mrs. Franklin. She could not exist without a 
squire to pay her attention and look after her comforts, 
and she at once determined that Noel should be her prop- 
erty and laid herself out to captivate him. She had been 
a very pretty woman, and still preserved her looks by 
the help of a little judicious recourse to art, not patent to 
the uncritical eye. She had a caressing and sympathetic 
manner, and, although she was really a heartless and selfish 
little woman, she was clever enough to make men believe 
her exactly what she chose to seem. She was annoyed to 
find this good-looking and well-mannered young man 
afidcted with melancholy; his sighs, his dejected appear- 
ance, his lack of interest in everything, bored her exceed- 
ingly; but, as she intended to enlist his services during the 
voyage, she reflected how best to gain an influence over 
him, and selected sympathy as the most suitable card to 
play on the occasion. 

Noel was like a child in her hands; he was soon ready 
to dance to any tune which the clever little lady piped, and 
after a few days he could not be happy out of her presence. 
For, by her pretense of sympathy, she had gradually drawn 
from him the story of his woes, and in time he confided to 
her everything except the name of the girl who had made 
him so profoundly miserable. He became cheerful and 
almost happy after indulging in the unspeakable relief of 
talking about his woes, for he had been forced, up to the 
presen If time, to keep them to himself. The story was 
sufficiently strange to be interesting, and Mrs. Franklin en- 
couraged his confidences and pretended ten times more in- 
terest in them than she really felt. 

She had the same fair-haired, pretty, feminine type of 
beauty as Hulcie, and in some ways reminded Noel of his 
lost love, and he became so devoted to her that he was per- 
petually beside her, showing her the greatest attention, and 
anxious to anticipate her every wish. It was, therefore, 
not surprising that his behavior gave wrong impressions to 
people who witnessed it. Mrs. Franklin knew quite well 


264 


ONCE AGAIN. 


that he was not in love with her, but it suited her vanity 
to let it be thought that he was her slave. 

As for Noel, he felt the sincerest affection for the kind, 
pretty, tender-hearted little woman, as he thought her, and 
would have gone through fire and water to serve her, but 
love, love such as he felt for Dulcie, was furthest from his 
thoughts. There was no passion in the eyes with which 
he looked at her; his pulses never beat a shade faster at the 
touch of her hand; his feeling was the tranquil affection he 
might have had for a beloved sister. 

Mrs. Franklin bestowed confidences on him in return — 
gave him to understand that she was not appreciated by 
her lord, and evoked much sympathy from him by the 
narration of her grievances. She did not bring any serious 
-charge against the colonel, as indeed a cleverer woman than 
she would have been puzzled to do. The friendly relations 
commenced on the passage out were carried on after their 
arrival in India. Noel continued to find his greatest hap- 
piness in the society of his coloneFs wife, which he con- 
stantly sought. Being absolutely free from evil intent, he 
was unaware that the lady^s reputation suffered from his 
attentions, but she, although not equally ignorant, did not 
discourage them, being piqued into greater warmth of feel- 
ing for him by his want of passion for her. She wanted to 
conquer him and to make him forget Dulcie; it hurt her 
vanity that he should only regard her as a sister, and that 
she had no power over him more than friendship gives. A 
word, a signal, from Dulcie, and he would have had no eyes 
or ears for any other woman, but would have been ready to 
overleap any obstacle to get back to her. 

People talked, as people talk everywhere, but notably in 
India, and the colonel got an inkling of it, greatlv to his 
displeasure. Men have different ways of showing a?id feel- 
ing jealousy; some hate the man whom they believe to be 
their rival, and feel comparatively little rancor toward the 
woman who causes their misery; others feel all the bitter- 
ness against the woman, and can be perfectly civil and be- 
have with apparent unsuspiciousness to the man whom she 
seems to favor. The latter was the colonePs case. He 
was furious with his wife, but perfectly civil and courteous 
to Noel, so that the -subaltern never for a moment sus- 
pected the tornado that was threatening. He did not feel 
so kindly to his superior officer as he would have liked to 


OKCE AGAIK. 


265 


do, because he believed him to be harsh and unkind to his 
wife; and Noel, bein^ her avowed champion, could not 
bear the thought of any one vexing her, and was quite ready 
to fight her battles. 

Mrs. Franklin was careful not to let him know that he 
was the cause of the frequent dissensions between herself 
and her husband, as she shrewdly suspected that he would 
at once insist on the misunderstanding being cleared up, 
as much out of justice to himself for Dulcie^s sake, as for 
her own. 

Late one evening Noel was sitting with Mrs. Franklin, 
and she was employed in confiding to him her sorrows — 
the cruelty of her husband, and her own ' wretchedness, 
which she declared herself unable longer to endure. She 
wept; she was evidently grievously afflicted; and tender- 
hearted Noel was miserable at the sight of her tribulation 
and full of eager desire to console her. He drew his chair 
close beside her; he affectionately stroked and clasped the 
hand that she put in his; he was so full of tenderness and 
sympathy that it broke out into words of endearment. 

‘‘ My poor little darling he said,' moved to strong feel- 
ing. I wish to God I could do something for you! Can 
not I get you away from that brute 

And with this, as he was in the act of kissing the hand 
he held, brute, who, presumably, had been watching 
his opportunity, dashed in, aimed a blow at Noel which 
nearly upset him out of his chair, and prepared to follow it 
up with another, meantime looking like a madman and 
pouring forth the most opprobrious epithets on each of the 
pair. 

Now, it may be all very well for a man with a guilty 
conscience to make a passive target of himself for the blows 
of an outraged husband, but NoeFs conscience being as 
clear as the sun at noonday, he had no intention of- sub- 
mitting tamely to chastisement; he was, besides, much in- 
censed against the colonel for his treatment of his wife. So 
he promptly got on his legs and showed fight, and, being 
young and athletic, was more than a match for hig assailant. 

Mrs. Franklin shrieked, and, at the sound of hurrying 
feet, the colonel, not wishing to be found engaged in com- 
bat with his subaltern, ceased his attack, and, pointing 
furiously to the door, desired Noel to be gone. But Noel 
absolutely refused to go until he received an explanation. 


266 


ONCE AGAIN. 


It was fortunate that at this moment Major Black, who 
had been with the colonel in another part of the house, ap- 
peared upon the scene. He shrewdly surmised the cause 
of the affray, and, being well disposed to both men, was 
anxious to act as mediator. 

Mrs. Franklin threw herself hysterically upon him. 

“Oh, save me! save me! part them! part them !^‘’ sh^ 
shrieked, in terror; and the major, thinking she would be 
better out of the way, escorted her trembling form to the 
door, and begged her in a friendly tone to seek her own 
apartment. 

“No, by G — roared the colonel. “She does not 
stop under my roof. She shall go out neck and crop with 
her lover here!^^ 

Noel, meanwhile, stood his ground with considerable 
dignity, though the major made a friendly gesture with his 
head as though advising his departure. 

“ Certainly not,^^ said Noel. “ I do not stir from here 
until I know the meaning of Colonel Franklin’s behavior 
and the reason of his attack upon me.'” 

The good-natured major reffected that, for a young one, 
Noel was a pretty cool hand. 

The colonel swore in a manner appalling to listen to. 

“ Yoi(> want an explanation!” he shouted, interlarding 
every word with an oath. “It is not enough that I find 
you sitting hand in hand with my wife and proposing to 
take her away from ‘ that hrute/ as you were good enough 
to call me!” 

“ If you heard me say that,” said Noel, “ you must 
have been listening at the door, which is not quite the 
action of a gentleman; and if you can behave like this be- 
fore a woman who has not done the least harm in the world, 
I think it is high time she did leave you. ” 

Here the colonel made a feint of rushing at Noel again, 
but the majqi’ interposed his portly person, for, like the 
major of tradition, he was portly. 

“ Come, come, colonel!” he said, “ command yourself! 
And you,” to Noel, “ go — ^there’s a good fellow!" I’ll see 
you by a,nd by.” 

“ No,” repeated Noel, with great determination, “ I 
shall not stir from this room until the matter is cleared up. 
If the colonel imagines that I have done him any wrong, or 
that there is anything between Mrs. Franklin and myself. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


267 


he is entirely mistaken. I have the greatest friendship for 
her, but I look upon her as though she were my sister, and 
if he saw me kiss her hand to-night, and heard me speak to 
her in a manner which he may think too familiar, it was 
nothing but sheer pity and sympathy at seeing her so dis- 
tressed and unhappy.'^ 

Not only was the major staggered by Noel’s coolness, 
but the colonel was equally so. He believed him to be 
brazening it out, and cried, furiously, 

“ All right, sir. We will see what sort of account you 
give of yourself in the divorce court. ” 

“Divorce court!” echoed Noel. “I think, sir, you 
must be out of your mind. I take my solemn oath before 
God that nothing but the purest friendship has ever existed 
between myself and Mrs. Franklin.” 

“ Ha, ha! we shall see! we shall see!” roared the colonel. 

Now, Trevor,” exclaimed the major, “ for God’s sake 
get out of this, like a good fellow. Come round to me 
presently. ” 

And Noel, with his head well up, marched out, looking 
like anything but a guilty lover discovered. 

The colonel was so violent about his wife when his sub- 
altern had departed that the kind-hearted major was afraid 
to leave her under the same roof with him, and ended by 
carrying her off to his wife’s protection. Meantime, he 
implored Franklin, for his own sake and the sake of the 
regiment, not to have a scandal, and declared that he would 
thoroughly investigate the matter and come round again in 
the morning. 

The major was a good deal puzzled about Noel. He 
.-knew that he and Mrs. Franklin had been much talked 
about, and he did not in his own mind think they could be 
quite as innocent as the young man protested; but, after 
his high and lofty bearing, the major said to himself that 
he must either have spoken the truth or be the most thun- 
dering blackguard in creation. 

He found Noel waiting for him on his return home. 

“This is a bad business,” said the major, shaking his 
head with a somewhat reproachful meaning in voice and 
gesture. 

“ Yes,” 3plied Noel, “ it is a very bM business for any 
woman to Le tied to a maniac like that. ” 

“ Come, come,” responded the major, “ you had better 


268 


OKCte AGAIN. 


get off tlie stilts with me. You know it is a devilish awk- 
ward position for both you and the lady. You can not 
justify sitting hand in hand with her and abusing her hus- 
band to her behind his back!’^ 

“ Why, major,” cried Noel, “ what else could any man 
with a heart in his body do when he saw the dearest, kindest 
little woman in the world, the woman who had been his 
best friend in trouble, but try to comfort her?^^ 

My dear chap, retorted the major, it is all very well, 
but a man is not allowed either bylaw or by public opinion 
to comfort another man’s wife in that sort of way. And 
you must know quite well that you two have been a great 
deal talked about of late. ” 

‘‘ Talked about!” uttered Noel, looking blank. 

The major made an impatient gesture. 

“ You’re a devilish good actor, Trevor,” he said, but 
if I am to be your friend you had better drop that sort of 
thing.” 

Noel looked half astonished, half indignant. 

“ I am not an actor, major, and never was one. Neither 
am I a liar. ” 

AVell, well,” said the good-natured major, “ I can not 
understand your being ignorant of what every one else 
knows. You have been like Mrs. Franklin’s shadow ever 
since you came out; and of course it has made people talk. 
I don’t say there has been any absolute harm — I hope for 
everybody’s sake there has not — but when a man is always 
in a woman’s pocket, people are bound to talk. Anyhow, 
the colonel has got wind of it, and, though he’s a good- 
hearted fellow in the main, he’s as jealous as the devil. 
And she’s a regular little flirt. This is not the flrst time 
there has been a row.” 

“ She is the best woman that ever breathed,” cried Noel, 
stoutly, and she’s as pure as an angel. Never once, I 
swear, has a single word passed between us that her hus- 
band might not have heard, except so far as his own brutal 
behavior might have made it unpleasant to his ears, like 
to-night. I was in awful trouble when I met her, and she 
has been like a sister to me all through. If it had not been 
for her, I think sometimes I should have been tempted to 
blow my brains out. Look here, major, I will tell you 
about it; but I trust to your honor to keep secret, unless 
you think, for Mrs. Franklin’s sake, the colonel ought to 


ONCE AGAIN. 


269 


know it. I am married. And Noel blushed like a girl. 

I adore my wife — there is not another woman in the 
world I would look at in that sort of way — and I am 
separated from her, not through any fault of mine. It 
has nearly driven me mad. Mrs. Franklin knows all about 
it, and that is why I have been with her so much, because, 
like the dear, kind soul she is, she was sorry for me, and 
would always let me talk to her about my miserable 
affairs. 

The major gave a sigh of relief. It would have been 
impossible for the most skeptical mind to doubt the truth 
of NoeFs statement, so simply and unaffectedly did Ee 
make it. 

‘‘ It only shows,^^ said the major, ‘‘ how apt people are 
to jump to wrong conclusions. But the deuce will be to 
make the colonel believe it. And I donT see how you are 
to get over the fact of having been found kissing her hand 
and calling him a brute. Even if he makes it up with her, 
I don^t see how you can stop in the regiment after what 
happened to-night. 

Noel groaned in spirit. What dreadful Nemesis pursued 
him and made him bring trouble on every woman he cared 
for? He had thought at first, in the innocence of his 
heart, that a few words of explanation on his part would 
suffice to put everything straight; but he found, to his cost, 
that you may not, even with the most innocent intentions, 
call another man^s wife darling, and himself a brute, nor 
kiss her hands and hold them in yours, though you feel to 
her as a brother and though your heart is as pure toward 
her as the driven snow. 

The poor major got almost thin in his efforts to mediate. 
The colonel raged like a wild bull, and would talk of noth- 
ing but divorce. If Noel had a wife, so much the greater 
blackguard was he to behave in the way he had done. Mrs. 
Franklin went away to stay with friends whilst the kind- 
hearted major and his equally kind-hearted wife did their 
best to smooth matters down for her with her husband and 
in the regiment. For of course the affair got noised abroad ; 
and that was how the news traveled home to Charlie Faw- ' 
cett. 

It was finally arranged that Noel should have leave of 
absence until he could exchange into another regiment. 
At this juncture a very unexiDected piece of good fortune 


270 


Ol^CE AGAIN. 


jumped into the scale which the blind goddess seemed to 
be holding so unequally. Noel, who had been at his wits^ 
end about matters of finance, received the intelligence that 
the aunt who had nursed him through his illness had added 
to her benefactions by dying suddenly and leaving him 
some six hundred a year. 

Straightway he resolved to go to England. He knew 
that Alwyne Temple was married, and his heart burned 
with the hope that perhaps, now that his rival was removed, 
Dulcie might look less coldly upon him. And as he looked 
at himself in the glass (Heaven knows that vanity was the 
last foible of which he was guilty) and saw his bronzed face 
with the glow of restored health upon it, and his stalwart, 
vigorous figure, he thought that he might perhaps have a 
better chance than the poor, haggard invalid who had evi- 
dently inspired such unpleasing emotions in Hulcie's breast. 

But whatever he might feel of hope or agreeable antici- 
pation was dashed by the thought that he had, however in- 
nocently, brought misfortune on the woman who had been 
so good to him, and whom he would so fain have protected 
and defended. He was not even allowed to see her before 
leavmg India, the major and his wife miiting to assure him 
that nothing could be so fatal to Mrs. Eranklin^s interests 
as an interview. He wrote her a letter such as the full- 
ness of his heart dictated, and confided it to the major. 

And it was like a gleam of sunshine through black dark- 
ness when at Malta he got a telegram from that trusty 
friend: 

“ jUI will yet he %mTL. Am writing you to LondonA^ 

Eor NoePs heart was too good to have allowed him to be 
happy whilst a woman was suffering for his sake, even 
though he had been going straight to Dulcie^ s arms. And, 
as we know, he was far enough yet from that Paradise. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Noel knew that he was going to meet Dulcie, and his 
V heart beat to suffocation at the thought. The previous 
afternoon he had met Charlie Eawcett in Pall Mall, and 
they had dined together at a club. Charlie was not long 
in letting Noel know the rumors that had reached him, 
and Noel at once gave his friend the correct version of the 


OKCB AGAIK. 


271 


affair. Charlie was greatly relieved. If there was not go- 
ing to be a divorce, if Noel had not done anything to scan- 
dalize morality and propriety, there was no reason why he 
should not be invited to the Grange; and, as Byng had that 
very day thrown him over, he invited Noel in his stead. 

“We are going to have a festive week at our place, he 
said. “Three balls and a dinner. The Pratt girls are 
coming, and Dulcie Vernon is with us. You remember 
Dulcie? a pretty little girl. By the way, I think you rather 
spooned her last winter, didnT you?’"’ 

There was no concealing the vivid crimson that covered 
NoePs face at these words. Charlie saw it, and good-nat- 
uredly pretended to be occupied with something of absorb- 
ing interest in the street. 

Not for one moment did Noel hesitate about his answer. 
He did not stop to reflect how Dulcie would feel at seeing 
him, or to think of the embarrassment of the situation: he 
thought of nothing but that he was burning to see her, to 
know if the future held any hope for him. 

“I should like it of all things,'’’ he answered. “Are 
you sure that I shall not be putting Mrs. Fawcett out? 
Has she room for me?” 

“ Lots of room, and only too delighted,” replied Charlie, 
cordially. “ I will wire to her in the morning, and we will 
go down by the three-thirty. I will give you up my share 
of Dulcie, if you like. My people are rather keen about 
making up a match between us; but, though I don’t know 
a nicer girl, matrimony is not my game at present. She’ll 
have a nice little fortune. It would come in handy for you, 
old chap.” 

He was not aware that he was hurting his friend’s feel- 
ings by this remark. 

“ I am not quite such a pauper as I was,” Noel replied. 
And he told Charlie of the modest fortune to which he had 
succeeded, and Charlie congratulated him with immense 
cordiality. He had always been fond of Noel, and was de- 
lighted at his good fortune. 

“Not that you could keep a girl like Dulcie Vernon on 
seven hundred a year, or anything like it,” he remarked; 
and Noel thought to himself on how very much smaller a 
sum he had once had the temerity to think of keeping her. 
The idea seemed to him now little short of madness. ^ 

What would she dor How would she receive him? All 


272 


OKCE AGAIN. 


night long he lay awake, thinking, wondering — sometimes 
full of dread, sometimes venturing to hope a little. She 
had loved him once; why not again? 

On the journey down, he was so nervous and ill at ease 
that Charlie could not help remarking it, and wondered 
whether he was still feeling the effects of his accident. 

“ How is your head now?^^ he asked, presently. “ Has 
it got all right 

“ Yes,^^ Noel answered. I think I have got over it at 
last. Every now and then I get a splitting headache if I 
am overtired or overexcited, but that is all. 

‘‘ Beastly thing a head ache I'’ remarked Charlie. 

‘‘ Yes,^-’ Noel assented. ‘‘ I never knew what it meant 
before. 

After this he settled down, surmising that Charlie had 
observed his uneasiness. 

When they arrived at the manor house every one had 
gone to dress for dinner, and, much as Noel longed to see 
Dulcie, it was almost a relief, in the state of tension of his 
nerves, to have the meeting delayed. 

As he descended to the drawing-room, the gong was in 
the act of sounding. His head swam as he approached 
Mrs. Fawcett, looking neither to the right nor the left. 
She greeted him warmly, and Mary came up alid shook 
hands and said how glad they were to see him back from 
India. She glanced at the reprobate, as she considered 
him, with considerable interest, and thought him wonder- 
fully improved in looks. 

The procession to the dining-room had commenced, and 
Mrs. Fawcett said, hurriedly — 

“ Will you take Miss Vernon? You are old friends, I 
think. I need not reintroduce you. 

Then Noel followed the eyes of his hostess, and saw 
Dulcie sitting at a little distance, dressed all in white and 
looking like a beautiful fairy. For a moment his head 
reeled, his heart threatened to choke him, and then he was 
standing before her, holding out his arm. It would be 
difficult to say which of the two trembled the more. Fort- 
unately, no one remarked their confusion. Neither spoke 
a word until they had taken their places, and then, as a 
woman often has the most presence of mind in a social 
emergency, Dulcie, without looking at him, asked if he 
had not had a cold Journey. So presently Noel found 


ONCE AGAIN. 


273 


himself talking platitudes in the most approved fashion, 
whilst he made pretense of eating his dinner; and Dulcie 
made no pretense, but declined everything that was offered 
her after the soup. For when the heart is beating with ex- 
citement the digestive organs retire from the contest and 
decline to perform their appointed office. It was a singular 
situation in which Noel found himself. He was sitting 
beside his own wife, talking to her as if she were a stranger, 
whilst Ins heart was beating, his pulses throbbing wildly, 
and he was dying to catch her to his heart and to pOur forth 
the pent-up stream of love and endearing words into the 
little ear so close to his lips. 

As for Dulcie, she was m a state of mental bewilderment, 
and could not by any means have told what her real senti- 
ments were. She was surprised to find that she did not re- 
gard Noel with the repugnance and aversion which she had 
felt for him at their last meeting. He was not the haggard, 
miserable-looking creature who then craved her pity, but a 
handsome, to all appearance self-possessed, and resolute- 
looking man. She suddenly remembered the enormity of 
liis recent crime, and, sad to record, felt an increased re- 
spect for him, mingled with a feeling of resentment and an 
acute recollection that he had wronged her shamefully. 
Primed with this reflection, she dropped the shy and timid 
manner she had at first assumed, and put on a disdainful 
and affronted air; 

Noel had only one object in life. It was to make her 
care for him, and to prevail upon her to accept accom- 
plished facts, and take him not only nominally but actually 
for better for worse. She was his wife, it was true; but 
unless she consented to accept the situation he felt she was 
as far removed from him as though the ceremony had never 
been performed. Instinct warned him that he must of all 
things beware of frightening her; but he could not in the 
least make up his mind whether a bold or a humble bear- 
ing would have the better chance of success. He had no 
idea that she was aware of the episode in India, and was 
furthest from supposing, having a clear conscience in the 
matter, that she was looking upon him with furtive inter- 
est as a monster of iniquity and depravity. 

There was to be an impromptu dance at the Grange after 
dinner, and Noel had been apprised of this. He was won- 
dering whether his wife would dance with him, and looking 


274 


ONCE AGAIN. 


forward with inexpressible longing yet trepidation to put- 
ting his arm round her slender waist. 

For, though he had wooed her, persuaded her to elope 
with him, and had now been her husband for fifteen 
months, he had never yet embraced her, nor so much as 
kissed her hand. It was. being in the shoes of Tantalus 
with a vengeance. 

His very shyness gave something of coldness to his out- 
ward demeanor, which was in strong contrast to his real 
feelings; and this was so far fortunate. Although Dulcie 
pretended to herself to resent his taking matters with a high 
hand, she secretly respected him the more for it. 

After dinner Mary came up and whispered to her, 

“ Is he not improved? He really has grown quite hand- 
some; I thought you seemed as if you were inclined to 
snub him at dinner. It is rather unkind of you, as I dare 
say, poor fellow, he is in trouble. 

“ It is trouble of his own making, replied Dulcie, with 
unusual severity. ‘ ‘ And I do not think men ought to be 
encouraged who behave in that sort of way.^^ 

‘‘ Why, Dulcie! fancy your turning so severely moral! 
Besides, we have not heard the rights of the story yet. It 
can not be so bad as we thought, or Charlie would not have 
dared to ask him, knowing how particular mother is. 

‘‘ I do not think he ought to have been asked, returned 
Dulcie. It makes it very awkward, because one does not 
like not to be civil to him, and yet one can not help being 
disgusted at his behavior. 

Dulcie had her reasons for saying this. She wished to 
account in a plausible way for the coldness with which she 
intended to treat Noel. 

‘‘ I will get it out of Charlie to-night, or at all events, 
to-morrow, said Mary. “ In the meantime, if you donT 
want him, you may turn him over to me; for I fancy him 
immensely, I can tell you, and am not at all inclined to be 
down on him. If he has done anything wrong, I have no 
doubt it was all that horrid woman^s fault. Years older 
than him, too! So disgusting! She ought to be ashamed 
of herself. 

Mary^s words were not without their effect on Dlilcie. 
She thought better of Noel since he had inspired admira- 
tion in the breast of her friend. 


OKCE AGAIN^. 


275 


Noel was very taciturn after the ladies left the room, and 
Charlie rallied him on his silence and subdued demeanor. 

‘‘ I rather feel my head,^^ replied Noel; and it was not 
altogether an excuse, for excitement was wont, as he had 
said, to bring on a return of his old pain, and, quiet as 
was his manner outwardly, his breast was burning with 
mingled emotions. He was trying very hard to make up 
his mind how he had best behave to his wife. It would 
not be fair upon her, he thought, to take advantage of peo- 
ple being in ignorance of their relations to each other to 
force unwilling attentions upon her. No, he would en- 
deavor to behave to her as an ordinary acquaintance might, 
and watch carefully for any indication of her feelings to- 
ward him. 

There had not been, he was certain, the expression of 
repugnance and aversion in her eyes that had cut him to 
the heart in the summer: the little disdainful air she had 
assumed during the latter part of the dinner had carried 
more coquetry than repulsion in it. He was d3dng to ask 
her to dance, but controlled his desire and approached Mary 
Fawcett with a request for the first dance. She accorded it 
with , every sign of pleasure, and Hulcie, watching them, 
was unreasonable enough to feel ' irritated against both. 
Now, Dulcie had never, in the days of her freedom, been 
inclined to flirt. She had always a pretty, pleasing manner 
to every man, but was not in the habit of distinguishing 
those she liked by making lightnings of her eyes,^-’ or 
gestures of coquetry, such as even very innocent young 
girls will use as arrows in their warfare with the other sex. 
But to-night she departed from all her traditions and cus- 
toms, and began to smile on Charlie Fawcett in a manner 
which not only gave him a pleasurable sensation, but de- 
lighted his mother and planted a dagger in poor NoeFs 
breast. Until now he had always felt like a brother to 
Charlie, but gradually, as the evening wore on, the broth- 
erly feeling grew to have something of a Cainish tendency. 

Diijcie saw that she was making him miserable, and felt 
secretly delighted. She said to herself, besides, that she 
was only inflicting a righteous punishment on him for his 
infidelity toward her. She made haste to give away every 
dance, bestowing three on Charlie, and when Noel ap- 
proached her she threw him an indiflerent smile and re- 


276 


ONCE AGAIN. 


grettecl that she was engaged. His under lip trembled 
visibly; he looked imploringly at her. 

“ Will you not give me one he said; but she answered, 
lightly, 

“ I am very sorry, but I have not one disengaged. In 
fact, I have promised more dances than there are likely to 
be.^^ 

So Noel watched her from a dark corner, and saw men 
freely putting their arms round her pretty waist, their faces 
bending down to hers, her heart beating close to theirs, and 
he ground his teeth and thought of liis own rights of which 
he dared not claim the smallest part, and, nearly mad with 
passion and misery, said to himself that waltzing was a 
most disgusting and immoral practice, which ought not to 
be tolerated in decent society. 

The evening came to an end, and brought him no oppor- 
tunity of exchanging a word with Dulcie. He had no 
heart to join the men in the smoking-room: so, pleading 
the pain in his head, he went to his own room, where he 
paced up and down like a caged lion. He could not stand 
much more of this sort of thing, he swore, and he turned 
over a dozen different plans in his head. 

She was his wife, he kept telling himself: if he chose, he 
could enforce his rights, and the law would be on his side. 
He would insist on an interview with her, and would tell 
her firmly that he could not stand this any longer; that 
since, of her own free will and choice, she had married him, 
she must abide by the consequences. It was some comfort 
to him to refiect that her mother acknowledged the bind- 
ing nature of the tie and had advised him to act with firm- 
ness. 

Next day, however, no opportunity presented itself of his 
exchanging a word with her. She evaded him without any 
apparent design, but so successfully as to baffle his resolve. 
Tliat night the ball at the Grange was to take place, and 
he asked her, as he handed her a cup of tea in the after- 
noon, if she would give liim the first waltz. 

She had promised the first to Mr. Fawcett, she replied, 
with an innocent smile that transfixed liim like an arrow, 
but she would be happy to give him any other except the 
third, which she had also promised Mr. Fawcett. As she 
said, “ I shaV be happy,” her indifferent glance seemed to 
indicate that c, would be a great bore, but she supposetl she 


OJ^CE AGAIN. 277 

must submit to it. The tone was not lost on Noel, and it 
pained him keenly. 

‘‘ Dulcie,^^ observed Mary Fawcett, going into her 
friend's room before dinner, “ you need not keep up that 
disdainful manner to Noel Trevor. I have asked Charlie 
about the Indian affair, and he says it is all right, and 
there is not going to be a divorce, after all." 

Really!" uttered Dulcie, with apparent indifference. 

Mary did not continue the recital, seeing that Dulcie 
showed no interest in it; and Dulcie remained under the 
impression that, although the affair had been hushed up, 
Noel was none the less guilty. 

Poor Noel could eat no dinner again this evening, for 
not only was his heart throbbing at the thought of the 
dance which Dulcie had so indifferently accorded him, but 
he had the misery of sitting opposite her and Charlie and 
being witness of a decided flirtation between them. 

Dulcie had never distinguished Charlie in this manner 
before, and it was extremely agreeable to the young fellow. 
He had declared that matrimony was notin his line, but 
he had never before had encouragement from such a pretty 
girl, and his vanity was flattered. For Dulcie was always 
an object of admiration to men, and they never failed to 
be attracted by her fair and very feminine style of beauty 
and by hei’ gracious and amiable manners. 

if Charlie had guessed how he was hurting his friend's 
feelings, he would certainly have abstained from evincing 
so plainly the delight he felt at Dulcie's preference: but he 
was as innocent as a baby in the matter, and, if he ob- 
served that Noel looked morose and miserable, attributed 
it to his head, or to regretful thoughts of the fair one left 
behind in India. 

The hour approached to which Noel had been looking so 
keenly forward, but before it arrived he was fllled with 
anger and misery by the sight of Dulcie leaning on his 
friend in the waltz with an abandon that stirred every flber 
of passion in his jealous heart and made him for the time 
almost inclined to hate them both. He had a wild thought 
of taking Charlie aside and telling him the truth; if things 
went much further, he felt that he must. 

The second waltz came, and he walked up to Dulcie to 
claim it. She received him with great nonchalance, and 
when he put the arm that all his self-command could not 


278 


ONCE AGAIN. 


restrain from trembling round her, she held herself stiff 
and upright in the most aggressively virtuous manner. The 
momentary fire which had blazed up in NoeTs breast died 
away to coldness; he felt a gnawing sense of disappointment 
and mortification. He had intended to lead her into the 
conservatory as soon as the dance was over and to insist on 
an explanation, but even ere the concluding bars were 
played she declared that she had torn her dress and must 
go to have it repaired, and, withdrawing her hand from 
his arm, she left him before he had time even to utter a re- 
monstrance. 

When she reappeared, he begged her urgently for another 
dance, but she smilingly declared herself engaged for the 
remainder of the evening, and turned away as though there 
was nothing more to be said in the matter. As indeed 
there was not. 


CHAPTER XXXHI. 

The following evening the county ball took place, and, 
although Dulcie danced twice with Noel, she gave him no 
opportunity of saying to her what was burning in his heart. 
It was a sheer impossibility to utter in a ball-room, where 
five hundred other people w^ere present, “You are my 
wife, and I will no longer live without you.” A certain 
amount of privacy was absolutely indispensable to a com- 
munication of such a nature. Entreaty, even a little gen- 
tle force, might perhaps be needed to eke out persuasion, 
and the five hundred and odd other persons formed as 
stout a wall as that through which Pyramus addressed 
Thisbe. Noel would have asked her to give him an inter- 
view in the morning-room, conservatory, garden — any- 
where — had not the conviction impressed itself upon him 
that she would not only refuse it, but take care to avoid 
any accident which might throw her into his company 
alone. The tim^ was drawing on: this was Wednesday; 
on Saturday his visit would come to an end. He longed 
for some one to help him. 

Mary Fawcett was a nice, amiable girl, who seemed well 
disposed toward him; he was half inclined to beg her help 
to obtain him an interview with Dulcie; but what pretext 
could he make for seeking one without arousing her sus- 


ONCE AGAIN. 


279 


picions? And, imbittered as be was against Dulcie by her 
cruelty and her flirtation with Charlie, he was still anxious 
to avoid causing her embarrassment. A bolder policy 
would, without doubt, have been wiser in dealing with so 
n^eak a character as Dulcie^s; she put down his timorous- 
ness to a guilty conscience, and was secretly a little pro- 
voked that he allowed himself to be rebuffed so easily. 

She had by this time recovered from her hopeless love of 
Alwyne, and Noel no longer inspired her with any sense of 
repugnance. Her behavior was more the outcome of that 
tyrannous love of showing power which the weak love to 
exert when a victim is thrown in their way; she bullied 
him because he was afraid of her; if he had been bold and 
resolute at first, she would probably have succumbed. But 
his weakness had the effect of making her strong. On 
Thursday the flirtation between her and Charlie grew to 
such magnitude that Noel was almost beside himself, and 
resolved to take Mary partly into his confidence. He had 
no difldculty in finding an opportunity of being alone with 
her. 

“ I want you to do me a great favor,^^ he said, in im- 
ploring tones; and a girl is never averse to a request of this 
sort from a man whom she regards with favorable eyes. 
But when he made it known to her that his urgent request 
regarded a private interview with Dulcie, a pang of disap- 
pointment shot through her breast. She was fond of Dul- 
cie, but it was rather hard that all the men should be taken 
up with her, to the exclusion of the other girls, herself 
among them. She had a suspicion, too, that she might be 
standing in her brother's light by furthering NoeFs wish, 
for she had not forgotten that Dulcie had been very much 
attracted to him the previous 'winter, although she was tak- 
ing such a severely moral tone about him now. Still, this 
might be only a sign of pique. 

She hesitated; but Noel entreated her with so much elo- 
quence that she gave way at last, and promised to do what 
she could. In her own mind she felt sure that he wanted 
to explain away the affair with the coloneFs wife in India. 

She arranged to take Dulcie next day at noon to a small 
room opening out of the entrance-hall, under pretense of 
showing her something. The room was rarely used, and 
they would be more secure against intrusion there than in 
any other part of the house. Noel spent the night in 


2S0 


on(;e agaik. 


framing speeches likely to overcome Dulcie^s obduracy; 
sometimes they were tender, sometimes stern; and even 
when the morning dawned he had not made up his mind 
what line it would be best to take. 

The next morning he lingered about until the appointed 
time, and about ten minutes after noon, as he was loitering 
in the hall, he heard the voices of the two young ladies, 
aud, sheltering himself behind the large hat-stand where 
cloaks and wraps offered ample concealment, he presently 
saw them enter the room indicated by Mary. A moment 
later, he turned the handle of the door gently and went in. 
Mary gave him a cordial greeting, and the pair remained 
chatting for a few minutes, whilst Dulcie looked out of the 
window and preserved a strict neutrality. 

Suddenly Mary started up. 

Mother is calling me,^^ she cried, and ran to the door. 
Dulcie, hearing this explanation, turned and prepared to 
follow her friend, but Noel closed the door quietly and 
stood with his back to it. 

Dulcie, seeing herself caught in a trap, blushed, and a 
sparkle of anger lighted up her blue eyes. 

Noel, though Ins pulses were hurrying violently, kept up 
a semblance of calmness. 

“ It is time,’^ he said, ‘‘ that we had some explanation.^^ 

“ Let me pass, if you please, exclaimed Dulcie, with 
an unusual display of hauteur, 

‘‘ No,^^ replied Noel, firmly; ‘‘ not until I have said my 
say. You seem to forget, and here he, too, colored, 

‘ ‘ that I am your husband, and that I can not go on for an 
indefinite time being treated by you as though I had no 
claim on you. 

Dulcie was a little frightened, but she kept up her dis- 
dainful mien. 

“ I thought all that was settled last summer, and that 
ydu were not going to annoy me any more,^^ she said. 

Great Heaven! to be talked to in this way, as if he were 
nothing more than a troublesome suitor! 

‘‘ You must allow me to remind you of the facts of the 
case,^^ remarked Noel, proudly, stung to the quick by her 
words. “I met you here fifteen months ago, and loved 
you. I think you loved me too. If not, you would hardly 
have consented to marry me as you did.'’^ 


ONCE AGAIN. 281 

“ I was young and inexperienced/^ retorted Dulcie, 
“ and you entrapped me into marriage.'’^ 

‘‘ The arts I used were very simple ones/^ returned Noel, 
bitterly. “ I loved you, and told you so. I asked you to 
marry me, and you consented. ” 

“ How did I know that you were going to tell all sorts of 
falsehoods to the registrar,'’^ cried Dulcie; “ and to bring 
the most dreadful disgrace upon me?-’-’ 

Disgrace!'^ echoed Noel. “ I do not know that there 
is any disgrace in being the wife of an honest man who 
loves you, even though he may be as poor as I was. You 
knew that I should be compelled to make a mis-statement 
about your age, because I told you so, and asked you to try 
to make yourself look older. I concealed nothing from 
you: we discussed everything fully beforehand. 

But you knew that I was ignorant and inexperienced, 
anwswered Hulcie. “You have made my life one long 
misery. Here I am tied down for life, living in a state of 
deception, afraid every hour of being discovered, and un- 
able to receive the attentions of any other man, however 
much I may wish to. 

Her words were like knives stabbing him to the heart. 
He turned from hot to cold. Her cruelty was more than 
he could bear. 

“ Do you admit,” he said, after a moment ^s pause, un- 
able to look at her, so bitter did he feel — “ do you admit 
that when you married me you loved me?” 

“I suppose I thought I did,” she answered, cruelly. 
“ I was too young to know my own mind.'’^ 

“ And if,” continued Noel, not noticing the last part of 
her sentence, “ you loved me then, what have I done since 
to forfeit your love? Was it my fault that the accident 
happened which brought me to the verge of death?” 

“ It was a judgment upon us for deceiving mamma,” 
said Dulcie. 

Noel made an impatient gesture. 

“ It is childish to talk like that!” he said, almost angri- 
ly. “ You loved me, and married me. You are my wife, 
and I will not have my life ruined by your caprice. I was 
weak enough last summer to allow myself to be kicked out 
like a cur, but I will not again go through such a misera- 
ble time as that I spent in India, because I cared too much 
for you to force myself upon you.” 


282 


ONCE AGAIN. 


He had given Dulcie her cue, and she was not slow to 
take advantage of it. 

I should think/ ^ she said, scornfully, you must have 
been very miserable. You were, at all events, not very 
long in consoling yourself. 

“ What do you mean?” cried Noel, amazed. He had 
no idea that Dulcie was aware of the episode in India. 

You know very well what I mean,” she answered, with 
a toss of her head. “ You pretended to be so dreadfully 
unhappy about me, and not a month after you were be- 
having in the most shameful manner with that horrid 
woman. 

Noel was staggered by her words, and Dulcie took his 
momentary hesitation for a sign of guilt. 

“ I do not know what you have heard,” he said, pres- 
ently, ‘‘ but I am in a position to explain everything and 
to put an end to any possible misunderstanding. ” 

A momentary flash of happiness thrilled through his 
heart at the idea that perhaps she was jealous of him. 

‘‘ It will not be very easy to explain, I imagine,” she re- 
turned, coldly. Do not think to deceive me. I know 
everything. You went on in such a disgraceful way with 
your coloneDs wife that he threatened to get a divorec 
from her; and I am sure I don^t know why he did not.^^ 

“ But I do,” answered Noel, warmly. Because there 
was not a shadow of foundation for his suspicions, and be- 
cause Mrs. Franklin is the best and purest little woman in 
the world. 

‘‘ Eeally!^^ with increased disdain. “ I thought every 
one knew what she is!” 

‘‘ Any one who breathes a word against her is a liar!” 
cried Noel. 

“ Thank you,” retorted Dulcie, with flaming cheeks. 

‘‘I am not speaking of you,” he answered, “because 
you can not possibly know anything about her, and only 
repeat what has been told you by some scandalous person. 
It was you, indirectly, who were the cause of all the mis- 
understanding. When I was so wretched, I used to talk to 
her about you, and she listened with the patience of an 
angel and gave me all the sympathy I could have claimed 
from a sister. 

“ Indeed!” cried Dulcie, far from being pacified by his 


OITCE AGAIl?-. 283 

words. I can imagine nothing that I should dislike so 
much a^ being discussed by a creature like that!^^ 

“ I will not allow even you to speak of her in that way!^^ 
cried Noel, angrily. ‘‘ You must accept my word for what 
she is, and I will not permit any one in my presence to as- 
perse the kindest and best little woman in the world. 

“ You had better go back to the kindest and best little 
woman in the world retorted Dulcie, her temper fully 
aroused by his championship of the detested wife of his 
colonel. 

My conscience is perfectly clear, said Noel, more qui- 
etly. Since I met you, I have never loved, never had a 
thought for any woman but you. And I scarcely think re- 
proaches come very well from you to me, after your con- 
fession that you loved Mr. Temple. 

“You will be good enough,^'’ said Dulcie, in tones trem- 
ulous from shame and mortification, “ to leave Mr. Tem- 
ple’s name out of the question. He is married, and is 
nothing to me.” 

“ God knows,” replied Noel, more gently, “ I wish noth- 
ing better than to forget that he ever existed. Dulcie,” 
going a step nearer to her, ‘ ‘ let us forget all the miserable 
time that is past, and begin the future afresh. I dare say 
I was very foolish and very wrong, but God is my witness I 
only sinned from love of you, and surely I have been pun- 
ished. Darling, 1 don’t think you can be so unjust as to 
hate me without a cause, and, since our lives are bound to- 
gether, why should we not be happy? I love you with all 
my soul. My own wife, do not be cruel to me!” 

He stretched out his arms to clasp her, but, with a fright- 
ened look, she eluded him. 

“No, no!” she cried. “ Things are much better as they 
are. I do not want to be your wife.” 

A sudden overmastering passion of anger and desire 
swept across Noel. Why should he submit any longer to 
be played the fool with by this girl? — why should he stand 
trembling before her, humbly beseeching as a favor what 
was his of right? Swayed by a violent impulse, he caught 
her suddenly in his arms, and, holding her by main force, 
held her face upturned to his, and kissed her passionately 
again and again. She uttered a shriek, and struggled to 
free herself from his embrace. At this moment, unseen by 
either of them in their violent emotion, a form passed the 


284 


OlfCE AGAIN. 


window, paused a moment, then made a dash for the house. 
A moment later Charlie Fawcett rushed into the room, 
caught hold of Noel, and dashed him backward against the 
wall. 

You blackguard he gasped, breathless with rage and 
exertion; how dare you insult a lady in thisiiouse?^^ 

And the two men stood glaring at each other, whilst 
Dulcie threw herself on a couch, weeping hysterically. 

‘‘You will be good enough to leave this at once,^^ pro- 
ceeded Charlie, quite beside himself with passion, and tak- 
ing up the role of champion of the outraged fair. “ This 
sort of thing may be all very well in India, but it wonT do 
here, I can tell you! You shall answer to me for this.^^ 

“ Oh!^^ said Noel, with surprising calmness, “ it is you 
1 have to thank for spreading lying reports about me, is it?^^ 
“ At all events, there will be no lies vhen I tell how you 
have insulted a defenseless girl to-day,^ ^ cried Charlie. 

His words conjured up a terrible picture of shame and 
exposure before Dulcie 's mind. If this dreadful aifair 
were known, everything would doubtless come out. Noel, 
to justify himself, would probably proclaim the truth, and 
she would die of shame. She checked her sobs, and stood 
up, looking very white, but making a great effort to com- 
mand her voice. 

“ Mr. Fawcett, she said, “ I beg of you not to let this 
go any further. For my sake, you must please not say a 
word of what lias happened to any one. Promise me, oh! 
promise me not to take any more notice of it.^^ 

Charlie was disagreeably surprised. He had just distin- 
guished himself in this heroic manner, had come to bring 
timely aid to a distressed damsel, and, instead of being 
grateful to him, she was insisting that nothing should be 
said on the subject. 

“ My dear Miss Vernon,^' he replied, “ you can not sup- 
pose that I will allow a man to behave in such a disgraceful 
way to a guest under my mother^s roof. I am sorry Tre- 
vor should so far have forgotten himself; but I can not 
permit him to remain here after what has happened. 

“ If Mr. Trevor leaves the house/ ^ said Dulcie, with un- 
expected firmness, “ I shall leave it too. And you could 
not do anything that would distress or annoy me half so 
much as by giving the least hint of what has happened. If 


OKCE AGAIN-. 


2S5 


you do, you will not be my friend/^ and, with some vehe- 
mence, 1 will never forgive you.'’^ 

A cloud gathered on Oharlie^s brow. There was no 
understanding women. He had never thought very much 
of the sex, and now he thought still less. She had shrieked 
and struggled in HoeFs embrace, and all the time, he sup- 
posed, she liked it, and was quite annoyed with liim for 
having come in and stopped it. Well, that put an end, 
once and for all, to any thought he might have entertained 
of marrying her. . 

He drew himself up, and said, stiffly — 

“ I see I have made a mistake. I apologize for having 
come in at an awkward moment. It will be a lesson to me 
to be more discreet in future. 

And he moved toward the door. 

“ Oh,^^ cried Dulcie, exceedingly distressed by his man- 
ner, “ pray do not take it in that way! You do not under- 
stand. Mr. Trevor has behaved in a most unpardonable 
manner; but do you not see that if he were to go away 
suddenly there would -have to be explanations?^^ 

“ It is perfectly simple, said Noel. “ I can say that I 
have had a telegram and must go to London this after- 
noon. If,^’ coldly to Charlie, “you will be good enough 
to order the dog-cart, I will get my things packed at once.^^ 
“No, no!^^ cried Dulcie, with unusual firmness; “you 
must not go. If yon do, I will never see you again. Re- 
member — looking from one to the other of them — “ if 
either of you let what has happened come out, you will be 
doing me the greatest injury, and 1 shall leave the house at 
once.^"' 

With that, she slipped past them out of the room, leav- 
ing both in a most awkward and uncomfortable situation. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

For a moment, neither Charlie itor Noel moved or 
spoke. Noel was the first to break the silence. He felt 
disconcerted and ashamed of himself for having given way 
to his passion. No man, husband or not, had, in his opin- 
ion, any right to use force to a woman. It was cowardly. 
Unpleasant as it was to him to have to make an explana- 


286 


ONCE AGAIN. 


tion, especially after Charlie’s rough handling of him, he 
felt bound to say something. 

“lam sorry,” he began, “ for what has happened.” 

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I am devilish sorry that I interfered,” he returned. 
“ It is evident the girl liked it, although she screamed and 
struggled. I shall know better another time.” 

But this view of the matter, and the slighting tone in 
which Charlie spoke, displeased Noel ainazingly. 

“ You do not understand,” he exclaimed. “ It was I 
who was in the wrong, utterly in the wrong; and it is very 
good of Miss Vernon not to take the affair more seriously.” 

“ Pooh!” said Charlie, lightly. “ I believe women like 
to be treated in that sort of way, and only make a fuss to 
save their reputation for virtue. They are all much of a 
muchness. I never had any very great belief in them, 
though I must say I thought Dulcie Vernon was a different 
sort.” 

His words were gall and wormwood to his hearer. Any 
impeachment of Dulcie was much more painful to him 
than the most severe condemnation of himself. 

“You don’t understand,” he said again, warmly. “I 
was entirely to blame. But there are reasons, only I can 
not tell them to you just at present, why my conduct was 
not so altogether unpardonable as it seems.” 

“ Not at all,” returned Charlie, provokingly. “ I don’t 
blame any man for kissing a pretty woman. I only wish 
to Heaven I had not happened to come along at that mo- 
ment! In future, whatever I may see and hear, a woman 
may shriek her life out before I stir a finger in her defense. 
I am sorry, old chap, I laid hands on you; she wasn’t 
worth it: none of them are. Come, shake hands and for- 
get what I said. ” 

Noel felt it was no use arguing about the matter, since 
he could not tell the truth. So he shook hands, and said — 

“You swear not to breathe a word of this?” 

“ Oh, yes, I swear,” returned Charlie, in a nonchalant 
manner. “ Hang the women! I wish they were all at the 
bottom of the Eed Sea. ” 

Mary was very curious to know what Noel had had to 
say to Dulcie, and plied her with questions when they were 
alone together after luncheon. But Dulcie declared that 


OITCE AGAIK. 


287 


their conversation had been of the most commonplace 
nature, and that there was nothing to tell. 

But did he propose to you?^^ asked Mary. “ I believe 
he did. 

“ Oh, dear, no! Certainly not. How absurd you are!^^ 
returned Dulcie. 

I don't care. I know there is something between 
you," exclaimed Mary. “ And it is very ill-natured of you 
not to tell, as I managed the interview for him." 

Very good of you, I api sure!" retorted Dulcie. ‘‘I 
think you might have consulted me first as to whether I 
should like it. As you seem to be so much in Mr. Trevor's 
confidence, you had better get him to tell you what hap- 
pened." 

Charlie was not an adept at dissimulation. He treated 
Dulcie with marked coldness, and pointedly avoided her. 
His mother and sister imagined that he had proposed to 
and been refused by her, and Dulcie was extremely uncom- 
fortable at his behavior, fearing that ft would give rise to 
suspicion and that something of the truth might leak out. 
Contrary to his habit, for he was a good-natured young 
fellow, he talked in a sarcastic and ironical manner, and 
was extremely hard on the opposite sex when opportunity 
offered. He could not feel the hearty friendship for Noel 
he had hitherto done, and, altogether, he looked forward 
to the end of the week when the party would break up. 
He should be off to London, not caring to be thrown any 
more with Dulcie in the intimacy of their quiet home life. 

Dulcie, for her part, was much more gentle in her de- 
meanor to Noel than she had been before that little episode. 
Perhaps, now that he had shown a more masterful spirit 
than she had given him credit for, her respect for him WMt: 
increased; perhaps she felt that her present life was un- 
satisfactory, and that, after all, this state of affairs could 
not be prolonged indefinitely. 

Noel, ashamed of his violence, did not follow up his tem- 
porary advantage at once, but, fearing to displease her and 
to add to her embarrassment, behaved with simple courtesy 
toward her, and did not seek another interview. 

The hunt ball was to take place on the Friday evening, 
and on Saturday his visit was to come to an end. Dulcie 
had consented to give him two waltzes with apparent will- 
ingness, and when she danced with him she no longer held 


288 


OKCE AGAIN. 


herself in the stiff and freezing manner that she had done 
at the Grange. Poor Noel was so dreadfully in love with 
her that all his timidity returned; he had a mortal dread 
of frightening or angering her; but, as he met her eyes 
when the dance was concluding, and saw, or fancied he 
saw, in them a look that was not exactly one of aversion, 
his heart gave a sudden throb, and he felt that he could 
not and would not leave her without some hope to live on 
in the future. There were two or three couches placed in 
a corridor where the light was not very strong — placed 
there, evidently, for the convenience of persons wishing to 
discuss matters of a more private nature than the ball-room 
gave opportunity for — and at the end of the last waltz Noel 
conducted Dulcie to one of these, and she, although aware 
of his intention, did not offer any resistance. 

Perhaps it would have been wiser if Noel had refrained 
from alluding to that little scene of the previous day; but 
lovers are seldom wise, and NoePs conscience had so pricked 
him for his offense that he felt in honor bound to apologize 
for his violence. 

“ I hope,^^ he said, with great eagerness, the moment 
that he had seated himself beside her and had ascer- 
tained that they were out of ear-shot — ‘‘ I hope you have 
forgiven me for what I did yesterday. I have felt the most 
awful brute ever since 

Dulcie blushed and averted her face: she would much 
rather not have been reminded of his indiscretion. 

If you knew,^’ he went on, ‘‘ how awfully tantalizing 
it is to be near you, and to — to remember — 

Here he paused, feeling the delicacy of the situation, and 
not daring to go on, for fear of offending or alarming her. 
She averted her face still more, to conceal the greater 
spread, and deepening of her color. 

“ I do not think,” he went on, stealing a hand toward 
hers, “ that you hate me so very much; it is not such a 
dregful thought, is it, that your life is bound up with 
mine?^^ 

His voice was very low, but there was an eager ring of 
passion in it. 

“You say,” he proceeded, “that your life is full of 
anxiety and worry now: do you think it would be more so 
if I were always beside you to shield you from trouble and 
annoyance: Your life with your mother must be wretched: 


ONCE AGAIN. 


289 


why will you not come to me^, when I am so devoted to 
you? From my soul, I believe I could make you happy. 

Dulcie^s hand was in his, and she allowed it to remain 
there after one ineffectual attempt to regain possession of it. 

“ I feel now,^^ Noel continued, as she made no answer to 
him, ‘ ‘ that my marrying you in the penniless condition 
which I then was in, was little short of madness; but now 
— I do not know if you have heard it — I am very much 
better off. Since my aunFs death, I have nearly eight 
hundred a year. It is not what you have been used to, I 
know; but I want so little myself — I have had to do with- 
out all my life — and everything shall be spent on you. 

Dulcie had not heard of his inheritance, and the news 
was a relief. Now that no romance attached to her 
thoughts of Noel, she was no longer enamored of poverty. 
She knew, too, that she would come into money when she 
was twenty-one or married, and it occurred to her that the 
greatest blessing in life would be to get away from her 
mother’s control and to be her own mistress. 

Whilst Noel, therefore, was pleading his love, practical 
considerations were making common cause with him in her 
mind. If he were only proposing to her, she would have 
been very much inclined to accept him. The thought that 
she was already his wife, and that he could claim her when 
he pleased, embarrassed and disconcerted her. Although 
she remained without speaking, the fact of her not refusing 
to listen to him gave Noel courage. 

“ I have been so patient,” he pleaded, clasping her hand 
closer, and drawing nearer to her, until his breath was 
almost on her cheek, will you not let that move you? 
Last year, when you told me that you did not love me, 
when you threw yourself on my mercy, did I not go away 
and leave you? God knows that, if I could have put an 
end to my life then to make you happier, I would have 
done so. But now it is different, is it not — darling?” He 
uttered the endearing word almost timidly. “ Say, at least, 
that you do not hate me. ” 

‘‘No,” said Dulcie, speaking at last, though in a cooler 
tone than was pleasing to her listener, “ I do not hate you; 
but it is all so awkward, so perplexing. I do not see my 
way out of it.” 

“How is it awkward?” urged Noel. “Everything is 
simple enough. Why should vou not join me in London 
10 


290 


ONCE AGAIN. 


next week? Your mother is out of the country. We need 
not consult her. You know she is quite willing to recog- 
nize the marriage. We can go away together, and it can 
be announced in the papers, and no date need be men- 
tioned. ^ 

As the whole delightful programme spread itself out be- 
fore his eyes, Noel grew keen and excited, and approached 
still nearer to his beloved. 

But she shrunk from him with a terrified gesture, and 
cried, ‘‘ No, no, noP^ wdth immense emphasis. 

NoeBs face clouded over, and a look of discouragement 
passed over it. Was he never going to overcome her hesi- 
tation? Was he to go on drifting month after month in 
this miserable uncertainty? 

“ God knows,^^ he said, gloomily, “ what all this is to 
end in! Any day I may be gazetted to my new regiment, 
and then I may have to leave you again and be no nearer 
to having things settled than I was a month ago. 

“ I will not go to India, exclaimed Dulcie, “ nor any- 
where out of England. If — if — I think at all about it you 
must sell out.^^ 

“You were ready to go anywhere with me once!^^ he re- 
joined, with some bitterness. 

“ But I am not now," she answered. “ I will not hear 
anything of the sort.^^ 

“ You expect me to make every sacrifice, he continued, 
for he was fond of his profession, “ and even then you 
promise nothing. How do I know that, if I were to- give 
up all that I have looked forward to in the way of ambition, 
you would not throw me over then?^^ 

“ Oh," said Dulcie, piqued, “ of course, if you can not 
trust me — " 

“ May I trust you?" he cried, a sudden warmth breaking 
over his heart, and he put his arm round her. ‘ ‘ Only tell 
me " — eagerly, and with a swift return of hope to his face 
— “ that you will be mine really, and I will send in my 
papers to-morrow. " 

“ There is no hurry," replied Dulcie, whose object was 
delay, not to precipitate matters. 

“ But there is hurry!" he cried, hotly. “ I must, I will 
know, here and now, what have I to go upon. What do 
you propose? What do you wish?" 

“ Nothing can be done whilst I am here, at all events," 


OKCE AGAIN. 291 

returned Bulcie; and my visit is to last at least another 
fortnight. 

‘‘ Why not?^^ urged Noel. “ What is the use of delay- 
ing a fortnightr^^ 

“ Mamma will not hear of anything except our being 
married in church/^ she said. 

Noel was furious. 

“That is nonsense he said sharply. “We are 
married. All the bishops in England can not marry us any 
more. It is simply a farce. 

“ Then you do not care about my feelings/^ returned 
Dulcie. “ You do not mind my being talked about, and 
people saying all sorts of horrid things of me. That is Just 
like a man^s selfishness.^^ 

Noel was touched, for if there was one epithet he did not 
deserve, it was that one, selfish. 

“It shall be as you wish, then, my darling,^-’ he said: 
“ your happiness and your good name are dearer to me 
than any other consideration in J:he world. But, surely, if 
I agree to this marriage in church ” (rather dismally) 
“ there need not be any very great delay 

“ Oh, but there must be!^^ cried Dulcie, perversely. “ I 
do not want a syllable to be known by the Fawcetts until I 
have left the Grange. Then you might come and see me 
at my aunt^s, and I can pretend that you proposed to me 
there. Then I must write to mamma; and she will not be 
home for another month. Then there is my trousseau to 
be got. We can not certainly be married for three months 
from this time.^'’ 

Noel jumped to his feet with a sudden access of passion. 

“I will not wait three months he cried. “ I would 
rather give you up altogether! You treat me as if I were 
a contemptible fool, who will submit to any humiliation, any 
caprice. If I choose, I can take you away with me to- 
night, no living soul . can hinder me; and, because I have 
behaved generously to you all along, my only reward is to 
be made a fool of. I have done! I give up! Shall 
with extreme coldness, “ take you back to Mrs. Fawcett 

He had struck the right chord at last. Any one who 
chose to be firm and masterful with Dulcie was certain to 
conquer. 

She gazed up at him with a timid, appealing look, and 
tears came into her pretty blue eyes. 


292 


ONCE AGAIN. 


Noel/^ she murmured, “ do not be unkind to me!^^ 

It was the first time for fifteen months that she had 
called him by his name, and it sent a thrill to his heart. 

“ Come and sit down by me again, she said, motioning 
him to a seat beside her. Let us talk it over, and tell 
me what you wish. 

He obeyed her, and, though his heart was melted by her 
look of distress, he commanded himself sufiiciently to pre- 
serve a cold and stern demeanor, seeing that this behavior 
was the most calculated to bring her to submission. 

He did not speak, and, after waiting a moment and 
playing nervously with her fan, she said, looking down — 

“ What do you wish me to do?^^ 

Noel answered with great firmness and promptitude. 

I wish you to tell the Fawcetts that I proposed to you 
to-night, and that you accepted me. I wish you to write 
to your mother to-morrow; and 1 insist — this was a bold 
stroke for Noel — “ that the ceremony shall be performed 
in a month from the present time. 

But mamma will not be back,^^ pleaded Dulcie. 

‘‘ Very well,” returned Noel, resolutely; ‘‘ then we will 
go to her and be married abroad. You write to her to- 
morrow, and I will write, too.-’^ 

So Dulcie yielded, and promised to do what he desired. 

At that moment the corridor was empty, for the favorite 
waltz of the day was being played, and every one who was 
not dancing was standing near the doors of the ball-room 
to listen to it. 

Noel drew his wife gently toward him and pressed his 
lips to hers. This time she did not struggle or resist. A 
minute later, Noel, looking radiant, and Dulcie, shy and 
prettier than ever with a rose-bud blooming in each cheek, 
swelled the throng that was listening appreciatively to the 
delicious strains of the waltz. 

‘‘ Shall we not dance it?” he whispered; and, Dulcie 
assenting, he put his arm triumphantly round her slender 
waist and bore her away among the dancers. 

At last he felt as though she belonged to him; it was al- 
most the happiest moment of his life. 

Nor was Dulcie, on her part, tormented by the displeas- 
ing sensations of repugnance and disgust. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


293 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Reine Ohandos, whom we must retrace our steps some 
three months to seek, felt great sympathy for her aunt, 
although she was sorry too for Dulcie. Mrs. Vernon, it 
could not be denied, had been an admirable mother, and 
Dulcie had lacked nothing that the most tender care and 
the deepest interest in her welfare could supply. She was 
not of an affectionate or demonstrative nature, but until 
the time when Dulcie had so cruelly surprised and disap- 
pointed her she had treated her with uniform kindness and 
indulgence, giving her every pleasure and surrounding her 
with luxury. She had been most generous in gifts, and 
few girls in Dulcie ^s position were as daintily apparelled or 
had so many pretty knickknacks. There was nothing 
mean about Mrs. Vernon, and, although an excellent man- 
ager, no one in her household had any cause to complain 
of any want of liberality on her part. She was extremely 
considerate to dependants, and only exacting in respect of 
obedience to her very reasonable orders. 

Reine was thoroughly awa/re of her aunt's good qualities, 
her honorable instincts and love of justice; she found no 
fault with the somewhat autocratic disposition which did 
not manifest itself capriciously. She and Mrs. Vernon had 
always been on the best of terms, and Reine had every 
reason to remember gratefully the kindness and support her 
aunt had given her at a time when she sorely needed it. 

In November, when she called in Grosvenor Street dur- 
ing a flying visit to London, she was shocked to see how ill 
and harassed Mrs. Vernon looked. She had a very bad 
cough, and was in a state of depression extremely unusual 
to her. 

Dear Reine," she said, reduced to the unwonted weak- 
ness of tears, ‘‘lam so wretched that I find life unbear- 
able. If I could only get away abroad! I can not tell you 
how I long for the South — for warmth, brightness, sun- 
sliine; but I could not go with Dulcie, who seems to jar 
upon my every nerve, and I really do not feel equal to go- 
ing alone. I know how full of engagements you always 
are, but," looking wistfuly at her, “ if you could manage 


OljJ'CE AGAIK. 


394 

to go with me and stay, if only for a week or two, I should 
be so grateful to you/’ 

Keine decided in a moment. She had a grateful heart; 
here was an opportunity of repa3dng in part the kindness 
of which she had always entertained a tender recollection. 

“Certainly, dear aunt, I will go,” she said, brightly. 
“ The change will do you all the good in the world, and 
I shall have no difficulty in making a little change in my 
plans.” 

A week later the two ladies were in Cannes, and Mrs. 
Vernon was a different woman, having left her cares be- 
hind, and thoroughly enjoying the congenial companion- 
ship of Eeine, who was never so charming as when she had 
an invalid to look after and divert. In a month she was 
able to leave Mrs. Vernon, who, though she missed her 
greatly, had now several friends and acquaintances in Can- 
nes and was comparatively independent of a companion. 

At the end of January Eeine -returned to England, and 
joined Mrs. Herbert, who was wintering this year at Bourne- 
mouth, having conceived a momentary distaste for the 
Continent. 

The friends had spent ten days of fine weather delight- 
fully together, agreeing that one’s own country was the 
only place to be thoroughly comfortable in, when, one 
morning, Mrs. Herbert received a letter which caused her 
brows to pucker into a frown and the corners of her mouth 
to droop ominously. It was her habit not to open her let- 
ters until breakfast, when she declared they interested her 
much more than at any other time, and she could, besides, 
share her news and discuss her correspondence with her 
companions. 

“ What is the matter, Mia?” inquired Eeine, who hap- 
pened at this moment to glance toward her friend. 

“ Something that concerns you; something extremely 
tiresome and inconvenient. Here, my love, read and de- 
cide!” And she handed the letter across the table. 

Eeine exhibited equal marks of concern as she read: 

“ My deak Mes. Hekbeet, — I really do not know how 
to address you on the subject which at this moment weighs 
very heavily on my heart. My poor little Lilah is seriously 
ill and suffering the most acute pain from rheumatic fever. 
It is piteous to be with her and to witness her agony. For 


ONCE AGAIN. 


295 


the last two days she has done nothing hut moan and cry 
for Mrs. Chandos. The poor darling has taken it into her 
head that if she could be mesmerized as last September, 
the pain would leave her, and she does nothing but implore 
us to send for Mrs. Chandos, who she is sure would come 
to her if she knew what torture she was suifering. But, in 
the first place, I do not know where Mrs. Chandos isj and, 
in the second, how could I ask such a great thing of a lady 
to whom we are all but strangers? I know how kind she 
is; but we have no right to trespass on her goodness by ask- 
ing such a favor of her. It is so heart-rending, however, 
to hear my poor Childs’s cries for her that I can no longer 
refuse to write, and, at all events, endeavor to learn where 
Mrs. Chandos is. Will you tell me what you advise? I 
can not bear to trouble you, but I think you will let my 
extreme anxiety for my suffering little daughter plead my 
excuse. Very sincerely yours, 

“ C. Chestee.^^ 

Mrs. Herbert had frowned because she saw an end to 
the very agreeable time she was spending in Eeine^s so- 
ciety. She knew her friend well enough to feel tolerably 
sure that, however inconvenient, she would scarcely be 
able to resist such an appeal, or to throw away a chance of 
playing the part of ministering angel which was so pecu- 
liarly grateful to her sympathetic temperament. Reiners 
face, as she laid the letter down, betrayed the keenest per- 
plexity and trouble. Under ordinary circumstances, she 
would not have hesitated for a moment; but her memory 
recalled painfully the sentiments which Mrs. Chester had 
expressed about her, and she declared to herself that she 
did not wish to be thrown into contact with Sir John after 
the declaration which he had made her in the autumn. 
Still, the thought of the poor little sufferer was bound to 
triumph, and her heart was giving her the most decided 
orders as to her duty. 

Well?^^ said Mrs. Herbert, in a dreary tone, foreshad- 
owing her conviction that she was to lose her beloved com- 
panion. 

There is nothing,^ ^ exclaimed Reine, with energy, 

that I could possibly dislike so much as going to stay at 
the Hall.^" 

But you will go all the same,^^ remarked Mrs. Herbert, 


ONCE AGAIN. 


296 

in a forlorn tone. The goodness of her own heart pre- 
vented her from throwing any obstacle in the way^ although 
it was such a dreadful sacrifice to give up Heine’s delight- 
ful company. 

“ What shall I do, Mia? I believe it is nothing but fancy 
on the poor child’s part; I do not suppose I can do her one 
atom of good. Yet I can not bear the thought of disap- 
pointing her if she has a craving for me. It is only a sick 
fancy; but sometimes those fancies of a disordered mind 
have an enormous effect on the disease and its cure.” 

“ Of course you must go,” returned Mrs. Herbert, with 
the air of a martyr. 

“ 1 can not bear to leave you, Mia, and there is no place 
in the world to which I so much dislike the idea of going. 
Do you think I have forgotten Mrs. Chester’s opinion of 
me?” 

“ That is nonsense,” replied Mrs. Herbert. ‘‘ And she 
has changed it long ago. Sir John told me as much.” 

“ Suppose I go for a couple of days!” 

‘‘I know what that means,” ' returned Mrs. Herbert, 
drearily. “ Oh, my dear, of course you must go, and I 
must be left lamenting. I have been so happy the last few 
days that I quite expected something to happen; and here 
it is!” 

‘‘ Mia,” observed Heine, after a minute’s reflection, 
“ write and say that I am with you; that, if Mrs. Chester 
really thinks I can be of use, I will go for a couple of days, 
but that in a case of rheumatism I fear my mesmeric pow- 
ers will be of no avail. Ask her to telegraph, if she is in 
earnest in desiring my presence, and I will go.” 

“ You had better have your things packed,” remarked 
Mrs. Herbert, dryly. “ There can be no doubt as to what 
the answer will be. ” 

The two friends spent a melancholy day, regretting by 
anticipation the loss of each other’s society. Heine insisted 
that she would not remain* more than three days at the 
Hall; but Mrs. Herbert shook her head. 

“ It will be nearer three weeks before I see you again,” 
she said, disconsolately. “ I shall telegraph to Jessie to 
come down to-morrow.” 

“Wait until you know that I am going,” suggested 
Heine. 

“ I know it already,” rephed Mrs. Herbert, dolefully. 


OifCE AGAIIS". 


297 


The next day, indeed, saw Eeine en route for the Hall. 
As much of gratitude as could be compressed into a tele- 
gram arrived with all possible speed, and Mrs. Chandos — 
whose preparations were already made — started at once. It 
was a long and tedious journey, and, if there was one thing 
Eeine detested more than another it was railway- traveling. 

At a quarter to seven she arrived at the C station, 

where Sir John was awaiting her with the brougham. As 
he helped her to alight from the carriage he could scarcely 
find words to welcome her. His immense gratitude and 
his joy at seeing her again choked him. But the look in 
his eyes, the fervent pressure of his hand, were eloquent 
enough. Mrs. Chester came to the hall door, and em- 
braced Eeine with the tears running down her cheeks. 

‘‘ How good, how good of yoxxV^ she cried, bursting into 
tears and sobs. 

Tired though she was, Eeine insisted on going at once to 
the room of the little sufferer. When she saw the joyous 
light that broke over the poor, wan face at sight of her, she 
felt repaid for the trouble, mental and physical, it had cost 
her to come. Who could have imagined a year ago such a 
welcome being accorded to Mrs. Chandos at the Hall? Life 
is, indeed, full of surprises. 

Mrs. Herbert had been quite correct in her conviction 
that some considerable time would elapse before she again 
saw her friend. Lilah began to get better from the mo- 
ment that Eeine entered the house, and any talk of her 
leaving sent the poor child into paroxysms of distress. 

Eeine insisted on spending nearly the whole day at Lilah’s 
bedside. She was the only person who could do anything 
to her satisfaction. The touch of every one else she de- 
clared was rough and hurt her, and she would shrink and 
cry if any one else attempted to lay a finger on her, even 
her mother. 

Mrs. Chester was divided between gratitude and distress. 
She could not endure to think of the trouble and irksome- 
ness Eeine must suffer by constant attendance on the ex- 
acting invalid, and yet she was so intensely thankful to see 
the great alleviation that Mrs. Chandos brought to Lilah's 
suffering. Never did balm fall so sweetly upon a man’s 
heart as his mother’s praise of Eeine did on Jack; he 
would have liked to say a thousand times a day, if it had 


298 


ONCE AGAIN. 


not been a womanish trick, unworthy of a man, Did I 
not tell you so? You see how right I was!^^ 

Mrs. Chester was indeed forced to confess to herself how 
utterly different a woman Reine was from what she had 
imagined. The two ladies had many opportunities of chat- 
ting together, and never did Reine let fall a single word 
or the evidence of a thought which Mrs. Chester could dis- 
approve. It was her custom to read prayers to Lilah 
morning and evening, and Mrs. Chandos was invariably 
present, joining in them with unfeigned reverence and de- 
voutness. One evening Mrs. Chester was moved to say to 
her son, — 

‘‘ I do not for an instant believe that Mrs. Chandos is an 
atheist or anything of the sort. She is certainly no hypo- 
crite, and it would be impossible for her to join in our 
prayers as she does unless she were at heart religious. 
Some one may have perverted her mind for the time, she 
may have come under some evil influence, but it has not 
been lasting, and the dear creature will, I know, in God^s 
own good time, be brought back to the fold. ” 

And the excellent lady wept as she spoke, for her heart 
yearned over Reine, and she was beginning to think her 
one of the best and noblest women in the world. 

“ As for that poetry, I can not understand it. I try 
to forget that she ever wrote it. Some day she will, I am 
sure, regret it. 

Then Jack told his mother what had passed between him 
and Reine on the subject, and Mrs. Chester rejoiced great- 
ly. She felt now that she could look with equanimity on 
the woman she had once feared and dreaded occupying the 
place she herself had held so long at the Hall. But she saw 
nothing in Reine’s manner to her son to indicate that she 
entertained anything more for him than a merely friendly 
feeling. 

The only recreation which Reine permitted herself was a 
drive in the afternoon in Jack^s phaeton, and this she 
thoroughly enjoyed. 

She had become sincerely fond of him, and his presence 
was now entirely pleasing to her. His good nature and 
sweet temper gave her an agreeable sense of repose, and 
during the time that she was in attendance on Lilah a chiv- 
alrous feeling prevented him from breathing a word of his 
love to her, lest it should vex or embarrass her. 


ONCE AGAIN. 


299 


The three weeks which Mrs. Herbert had laid down as 
the time of Eeine^s stay at the Hall were drawing to a close, 
and a letter came from Bournemouth which contained the 
paragraph — 

Do not forget, my love, that I have some little claim 
on you, and that I am pining for you. Miss Lilah has, I 
think, had her full share of youi’ attentions, and must be 
reminded that she is not the only person in the world. So 
do not desert me any longer, but reward my uncomplain- 
ing patience, and come back to me as soon as possible. 

Reine felt it her duty, as well as her pleasure, to comply 
with her friend^s wish. Contrary to all anticipation, she 
had spent a very happy time at the Hall, and this made her 
feel the duty of returning to Mrs. Herbert more forcibly 
than she would have done under less favorable circum- 
stances. She had conceived a great regard and affection 
for Mrs. Chester, who treated her like a beloved daughter; 
she was fond of Lilah, who, though exacting, was never 
petulant to her even in her severest paroxysms of suffering; 
and as for Jack — well, she was forced to confess to herself 
that she cared for him more than she had believed herself 
capable of caring for any man. The idea of becoming his 
wife was not so absolutely ridiculous and preposterous in 
her eyes as it had formerly been. 

The time of her departure was fixed, and mourning, lam- 
entation, and woe reigned at the Hall. The morning before 
her departure. Jack sought his mother. 

‘‘ Mother he said. 

“ Yes, my dear,^^ she replied. 

But, somehow. Jack seemed as though he could not get 
any further. His mother went to him and laid a hand 
affectionately uppn his arm. 

‘‘ Is it something about Reine she said. 

Yes,^^ he answered. Oh, mother, I feel I can not 
live without her. If she won^t marry me, I think it will 
break my heart 

You can but ask her," said his mother, gently. 

‘‘ And you:^^ he said, looking wistfully at her. You 
know now what an angel she is. You — oh, mother! you 
wonT let there be anything on your part to — " 

“ My dear boy," and she kissed him with tears in her 
eyes, “ she shall be like my own daughter."^ 


300 


ONCE AGAIN. 


“ God bless you, dear mother he cried, and hurried 
from the room to conceal the agitation that mastered him. 

By some not very Machiavellian art, a private interview 
between him and Reine was arranged that very afternoon, 
and, at the conclusion of it. Jack, with the most triumph- 
ant look of happiness that ever illumined a lover^s counte- 
nance, led Reine, who wore a very pretty and beaming air 
of embarrassment, to his mother ^s presence. 

“ Mother, he said, ‘‘ I bring you your daughter. And 
I am the very happiest fellow in all the world. 

“ God bless you, my dear, dear daughter!^ ^ cried Mrs. 
Chester, pressing Reine to her heart. 

“ And,^^ said Reine, softly, you are no longer afraid of 
my having a bad influence over him?^^ 

“I am quite sure,^^ answered Mrs. Chester, warmly, 
‘ ‘ that your influence will be good in every way. God 
bless you both, my dear children!^-’ 

Jack accompanied Reine to Bournemouth the next day, 
and it will be hardily necessary to say with what cordiality 
Mrs. Herbert gave her blessing to the pair. 

“Are you quite sure, Mia,^^ asked Reine, playfully, 
“that you are not a little bit ^'ealous?^^ 

“I shall try to get over it,^^ answered Mrs. Herbert, 
smiling. 

Jack squeezed her lingers with an energy that was a lit- 
tle trying; but she bore it like the Spartan boy. 

“ I shall never forget what I owe to you,^^ he cried. 

“ I like a grateful heart,^^ answered Mrs. Herbert, smil- 
ing heroically. “ Who says one can not enjoy vicariously? 
I feel almost as happy as though I were going to marry 
you myself 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Mrs. Vernon was leading a very pleasant life at Cannes. 
Several of her friends were there, and she had also made 
some agreeable acquaintances, and enjoyed a considerable 
popularity. She was a clever,' well-bred woman, with a 
large fund of amusing small talk and a thorough acquaint- 
ance with every topic of interest of the day. She was al- 
ways ready to join in any party of pleasure, or to contribute 


Oiq^CE AGAIN. 301 

her share to the general amusement. In this, a well-filled 
purse and liberal inclinations gave her every aid. 

It was charming to hear her talk about her dear girl, and 
the trial that this enforced .separation was to her; but she 
wished, of all things, that her child should be happy, and 
Dulcie had a great disinclination for foreign countries and 
life. She was paying delightful visits in England, and 
seemed perfectly happy. A mother must always make sac- 
rifices; and her own health had forbidden her to face the 
trying English winter. And here Mrs. Vernon coughed 
the little cough that was scarcely more than an affectation. 

She had given up disquieting herself about Dulcie^s 
future, and was wise enough not to allow a matter to worry 
her which she could not control. It was with extreme sur- 
prise that, one morning, she received by the same post the 
two following letters. She first opened the one in a hand 
unfamiliar to her, although she fancied she had seen it be- 
fore, and, turning to the end, read, with a slight increase 
of the action of her heart, the name ‘‘ Noel Trevor.^’ 

She then went steadily through it from beginning to end, 
and when she had again come to the signature she laid it 
down with a sigh of relief. 

Deae Mks. Veenon (it ran), — Dulcie has prom- 
ised to write you by the same post, telling you what we 
have agreed upon; and I hope you will be kind enough not 
to put any obstacles in the way of my happiness. I have 
been staying with the Fawcetts, and we had an explana- 
tion. Of course, as I am really married legally to her, 
there is no occasion for any further ceremony; but, as 
Dulcie wishes it, and says you wish it, I am ready to sacri- 
fice my own feelings. All I ask is that there may not be 
any unnecessary delay. I do not wish to refer to the very 
painful position I have been in so long now, nor to what I 
have suffered; but I hope you will not forget these in an- 
swering my letter. If I acted wrongly toward you, my 
punishment has been very severe. I have come into seven 
hundred a year, which an aunt left me a few months ago, 
and will settle every penny of it on Dulcie; and I hope I 
need not say that whatever she has of her own I wish to be 
settled on her. I should indeed be sorry if any one could 
think I want anything of her but herself/^ proceeded the 
letter. 


302 


ONCE AGAIN. 


“He is too good for her/^ thought the affectionate 
mother. “ Poor young man! Well, no doubt his eyes will 
be opened soon enough/^ 

“ I would on no account ask you to come to England at 
this trying time of the year, as I hear your health is deli- 
cate; but would you have any objection to Dulcie going to 
you with some lady friend and to our being married 
abroad? I am going to send in my papers at once, as she 
wishes it, and shall soon be a free agent. Will you please 
let me know the name and address of your lawyer, that 
mine may see him and arrange about the settlements? 
Hoping to hear from you with as little delay as possible, 
believe me, dear Mrs. Vernon, 

“ Yours most truly, 

“ Noel Tkevok. 

The persual of this letter gave Mrs. Vernon unbounded 
satisfaction. She had long ceased to feel vain regrets 
about the impossibility of Dulcie making a good marriage, 
and she looked forward with intense relief to the time when 
her own responsibility would cease and she would no longer 
have the fear of discovery and disgrace before her eyes. 
For she felt no confidence that her daughter might not 
some day bring dire trouble upon her by some act of folly. 

“ Now,'^ she said, putting down NoeFs letter and taking 
up Dulcie’s, “ let me see what she says about it.^^ 

“ My dear Mamma (wrote Dulcie), — “ Noel is going 
to write and tell you everything, so I suppose there is no 
occasion for me to write it too. I suppose (Dulcie could 
never be trained to avoid tautology), “it is better that as 
we are to be married the world should know it, but I donT 
see any particular occasion for hurry, and perhaps you 
would write and tell him so, as he did not seem to like my 
saying it. I have told the Fawcetts that he proposed last 
night and that I accepted him. I suppose he has told you 
that he has come into some money. Had I not better go 
back to Anna next week and see about getting my things? 
Mary Fawcett wants to be bride-maid. Do you think I had 
better have any bride-maids? and, if so, whom shall I ask? 
Please write by return. 

“ Your affectionate daughter, 

“Dulcie Vernon.'’^ 


ONCE AGAIN. 


303 


‘‘ I do not believe the girl has an atom of heart/^ said 
Mrs. Vernon to herself, with considerable irritation. I 
shall certainly have as little delay as possible, or she may 
change her mind again. I had better go home at once."’^ 
And she thought with some regret of the pleasant life she 
would have to quit, and of the parties in prospect for the 
following week. She was, however, not a woman to allow 
pleasure to interfere with business, and immediately set 
about making preparations for her return. Next winter, 
and every winter following she would, please heaven, be 
free to make her arrangements independently of any and 
every other person. The court of chancery had to be ap- 
prised of Dulcie^s engagement — law-matters always took a 
long time — and she could not trust Dulcie to get her troios- 
seau alone. 

All things considered, it would be far better for her to 
return to England at once. She dispatched a gracious let- 
ter to Noel, and a semi-affectionate one to her daughter, 
bidding her meet her in Grosvenor Street on the third day 
following. She then communicated to the astonished Mor- 
ton that Miss Dulcie was going to marry Mr. Trevor in a 
few weeks^ time, and bade her pack at once for their jour- 
ney on the morrow. 

Morton would have given up a quarterns wages to be al- 
lowed to ask and hear all particulars; but there was some- 
thing in her lady^s manner that deterred her from presum- 
ing to utter a question. 

She was sure she was very glad, she said; but, without 
noticing her remark, Mrs. Vernon at once plunged into the 
details of packing. 

To her friends and acquaintances she contented herself 
with a smiling hint that she had received some very inter- 
esting news from home which necessitated her presence, 
and which she hoped to tell them more about at no very 
distant date. 

Even now she dared not be anything more than ambig- 
uous, as heaven alone knew what Dulcie might take it into 
her head to do before the event really came off. 

When Noel read her gracious letter, his heart filled with 
joy and gratitude, and he forgave her on the spot for her 
former coldness and harshness. She apprised him of her 
intention to goto London at once, and invited him to lunch- 
eon, the day following her return. She saw no reason for 


304 


ONCE AGAIN. 


delay, she wrote; and, if legal matters could be settled in 
so short a time, everything else could well be arranged. 

As she traveled homeward, she carefully cut and dried 
her plans. She would allow every one to believe that she 
was pleased with the marriage, and that she thought much 
more of her daughter's happiness than of wealth or social 
distinction. She would speak in the highest terms of her 
intended son-in-law, and would give it as her ojDinion that 
long engagements were a mistake, and that, when two young 
people hii thoroughly made up their minds about each 
other, delay was unnecessary and inconvenient to every one. 
She would hint that the attachment was not altogether a 
new affair, but that before Noel came into his aunt’s 
money she had not thought it prudent to sanction the mar- 
riage. She even settled upon the friends whom she would 
ask to the wedding, the trousseau she would buy, and the 
four bride-maids who should be invited to attend Dulcie to 
the altar. Nothing was forgotten in her calculations, not 
even the wedding-ring lying in her dressing-case, which 
she decided should not do duty again, as it had brought 
such ill-luck before. 

Dulcie was in Grosvenor Street, awaiting her mother’s 
arrival. She had seen Noel in the afternoon; indeed, he 
had met her at the station and conveyed her home, and had 
taken occasion to present her with a very handsome half- 
hoop of diamonds, at which she expressed a lively sense of 
gratification. He was so radiantly happy, yet so delicate 
and discreet in his behavior to her, that Dulcie, who had a 
gentle and amiable nature, though she was weak of will 
and purpose, began once again to experience something of 
the feeling of old days for him. She forgot Alwyne, or, if 
she thought of him, felt only a smothered resentment 
against him for his cruel treatment of her and his osten- 
tatious attentions to his wife. He had never really loved 
her, she said to herself, but Noel’s devotion had been un- 
swerving from the first moment. He had succeeded in con- 
vincing her that his intimacy with the colonel’s wife had 
been simply the outcome of his love for her, as that dear 
kind little woman, to whom he should forever be grateful, 
and whom he hoped (after the absurd and short-sighted 
manner of his kind) Dulcie would also know and love, had 
listened without wearying to his constant talk of her with- 
out showing the slightest symptom of being bored. 


OITCE AGAIlf. 


305 


And when he asked Dulcie, in a voice trembling from 
excessive emotion, if she thought she could come to love 
him again in time, she behaved with a charming coyness 
which, although it did not express very much, did not by 
any means forbid him to hope. 

The poor fellow was so ha 



the house that he reflected 


ever3d;hing was for the best, and that it was certainly a good 
deal more satisfactory to marry his darling in the open eye 
of day, before all the world, and with her mother^s consent, 
than to steal her away in secret and subject her to all sorts 
of disagreeable and ill-natured gossip. No one would be 
able to say that he had wanted her for her money; every- 
thing he possessed should be hers, and he would take noth- 
ing from her. 

Mrs. Vernon was most agreeably surprised when she met 
Noel. The haggard and wan look h^ left his face, and, 
under the influence of his great happiness and restored 
health, he was quite a different man from what she remem- 
bered him at their last interview. He behaved to her with 
the most courteous respect, and she received him as though 
he were an eligible suitor to whom she was well disposed. 
They had some little private talk about business matters, 
after which Mrs. Vernon thought it advisable to give him 
a hint about the management of Dulcie. She spoke in a 
pleasant, smiling manner. 

“I see you are very devoted to Dulcie, and I hope she 
will return your affection. She has a very amiable disposi- 
tion, but her character is wanting in firmness, and it is of 
the greatest importance that she should have some one to 
lean on and to look up to. Do not forget the necessity of 
being firm with a nature like hers: let her respect as well 
as love you. I abdicate entirely in your favor from the time 
when she leaves me to go to you. Do not treat the re- 
sponsibility of your situation lightly. ^ ’ 

And Noel, with every evidence of gratitude and good- 
will, assured her that he would not be unmindful of the 
value of the treasure to be confided to him, and went away, 
poor fellow! thinking in his honest heart that never had a 
man been so blessed before, and that he would indeed be a 
villain and a blackguard if he showed himself in any way 
unworthy of so angelic a creature. He had one of those 
kindly dispositions incapable of cherishing rancor or re- 


306 


ONCE AGAIN. 


membering injuries, and he had almost forgotten that 
Dulcie had ever been cruel to him or expressed a preference 
for another man. 

To Dulcie her mother resumed her manner of former 
3"ears, and was as kind and thoughtful as the most devoted 
mother could have been. She determined to forget the 
past, and to part from her on affectionate terms. It is but 
fair to Mrs. Vernon to say that she would have been willing 
to pardon Dulcie any foolish action, and to shield her from 
its consequences, had the girl trusted and confided in her. 
The resentment she felt had been entirely caused by Dul- 
cie^s hostility to and want of confidence in her; and ingrat- 
itude in the eyes of a woman like Mrs. Vernon was a 
heinous offense. But now the past was wiped out. It did 
not seem probable that she would see a great deal of the 
young couple in the future. Dulcie would come into her 
fortune on her marriage, and would be, in a pecuniary way, 
independent of her mother. 

Mr. Benson was sincerely relieved at the fortunate turn 
matters had taken. Morton, turn-coat that she was, ex- 
pressed the greatest delight at this happy conclusion, and 
vowed that she had always been Mr. Trevor’s friend. In 
short, the very crooked course that Noel’s love had taken 
now appeared about to end in a vista of perfect straight- 
ness and smoothness, and everything bade fair to conclude 
in the approved story-book fashion. 

Dulcie lived a delightful tumult of shopping and general 
excitement. Friends who owed wedding-presents, and 
some who did not, sent them in in shoals. The bride- 
maids consented with delight to attend her; the wedding- 
guests promised joyfully to come. Mrs. Vernon obtained 
the services of a friendly bishop, and all that remained to 
pray for was a fine day. Of course the old proverb, “ Be 
deux amants,^’ etc., was verified; but it was obvious to the 
dullest observer that Dulcie was extremely well disposed to 
her devoted adorer. 

‘‘You loved me once, darling!” cried Noel, wistfully, a 
day or two before the marriage, smitten by a momentary 
doubt. 

“ I loved you once, and I love you again,” Dulcie an- 
swered, sweetly. 

And for the first time voluntarily she put her arms 
round his neck, and, with a lovely blush, kissed him. 


OKCE AGAIIT. 


307 


Phoebus graced the ceremony with the utmost brilliancy of 
which, at that early period of the year, he was capable. 
As the guests assembled in the church waiting for the great 
event, how little any of them dreamed that this handsome 
and happy-looking young couple were already man and 
wife! 

Breakfast was over; the speeches were mMe; the bride, 
beautifully arrayed in her traveling-dress, and looking like 
a rosebud, stepped into the carriage, and shoes and rice 
were showered liberally upon them as they drove off. 

NoeFs heart thrilled with triumph. He forgot his 
sufferings; nay, he would not have had anything different 
if he could. What a right good world it was! 

“ At last, my own darling, at last!^^ he cried, with a 
ringing voice. 

And Hulcie answered, smiling — 

“ This is better, is it not, than last time?” 


THE EOT. 


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37 Nicholas Nickleby. Second half ^ 

41 Oliver 'I'wist 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

84 Hard Times 10 

91 Baruab^- Rudge. 1st half.., . 20 


91 Barnaby Rudge. 2d half 

94 Little Dorrit. First half... 

94 Little Dorrit. Second half ... 
106 Bleak House. First half 

106 Bleak House. Second halt. . . . 

107 Dombey and Son. 1st half .... 

107 Dornbej' and Son. 2d half 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and 

Doctor Marigold 

131 Our Mutual Friend. (Isthalf). 

131 Our Mutual Friend. (2d half).. 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. . . 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 

169 The Haunted Man 

437 Life and Adventur.^s of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. First half 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. Second half 

439 ^reat Expectations 

440 Mrs. Lii') per’s Lodgings 

447 American Notes 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mud fog Papers, &c 

4.)4 The M 3 '^stery of Edwin Drood.. 
456 Sketclies by Boz. Illustrative 
of Every -d xy Life and Every- 
day People 

676 A Cliild’s History of England. 

Sarah Bauduey’s Works. 

338 The Family Difficult}' 

679 Where. Two Ways Meet 

F. Du Loisgoliey’s Works. 

82 Sealed Lips 

104 The Coral Pin. 1st half 

104 The Coral Pin. 2d half 

264 Pi6douche, a French Detective. 
328 Babiole, the Pi-etty Milliner. 

First half 

328 Babiole, the Prett}^ Milliner. 

Second half 

453 The IjOttery Ticket 

475 Tlie Prima Donna's Husband.. 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown ; or. The 

Steel Gauntlets 

523 The Consequences of a Duel. A 

Parisian Romance 

648 The Angel of the Bells 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 1st half 

097 The P'-etty Jailer. 2d half 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. Ist 

half 

699 The Sculptor's Daughter. 2d 

half 

782 The Closed Door. 1st half 

782 The Closed Door. 2d half 

“The Duchess’s’^ Works. 

2 Molly Bawn 

6 Portia 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian 

16 Phyllis 

26 Mrs. Geoffrey 

29 Beauty’s Daughters 

30 Faith and Unfaith ... 


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TEE SEASIDE LlBRAnY.-PocTcet EdUion, 


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118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and 


Eric Bering 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. . . 10 

123 Sweet is True Love 10 

129 Rossmoyne 10 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other 

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136 “That Last Rehearsal,” and 

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166 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

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284 Boris 10 

812 A Week in Killarney; or, Her 

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342 The Baby. — OneNewYear’sEve 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion 10 

404 In Burance Vile, and Other 

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486 Bick’s Sweetheart 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Bar' 

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617 A Passive Crime, and Other 

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771 A Mental Struggle 20 

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75 Twenty Years After 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. A 
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262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

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262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

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708 Ormond 20 

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386 Led Astray: or, “La Petite 
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80 June 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
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484 Although He Was a Lord, and 

Other Tales 10 

715 I Have Lived and Loved 20 

721 Bolores 20 

724 My Loi’d and My Lady . 20 

726 My Hero... 20 

727 Fair W'omen . ^ 

729 Mignon 20 

732 From Olympus to Hades 20 

734 Viva 20 

736 Roy and Viola 20 

740 Rhbna 20 

744 Biana Carew; or, For a Wom- 
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314 Peril 20 

672 Healey ... 20 

R. E. Fraucillou’s Woi’ks, 

135 A Great Heiress: A Fortune 

in Seven Checks 10 

319 Face to Face: A Fact in Seven 

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360 Ropes of Sand 20 

656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior.. 10 


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31 Middlemarch. Ist-half 20 

31 Middlemarch. 2d half 20 

34 Baniel Beronda. 1st half 20 

34 Baniel Beronda. 2d half 20 

30 Adam Bede 20 

42 Romola 20 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical 20 

707 Sihis Marner: The Weaver of 

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728 Janet’s Repentance 10 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 
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B. li. Farjeon’s Works. 

179 Little Make-Believe 10 

573 Love’s Harvest 20 

607 Self-Boomed 10 

616 The Sacred Nugget 20 

657 Christmas Angel • • • • 10 


7 File No. 113 ‘ 20 

12 Other People’s Money 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol. II ^ 

33 The Clique of Gold 10 

38 The Widow Lerouge . 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

144 Promises of Marriage 10 

Charles Gibbon’s Works. 

64 A Maiden Fair 10 

317 By Mead and Stream 20 

James Grant’s Works, 

566 The Royal Highlanders ; or. 

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781 The Secret Bispatch 10 


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222 The Sun-Maid 20 

5K Cara Roma 20 

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680 Fast and Loose 20 

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432 The Witch’s Head 20 

T53 King Solomon’s Mines 20 

Thomas Hardy’s Works. 

139 The Romantic Adventures of 

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530 A Pair of Blue Eyes 20 

690 Far From the Maddine Crowd. 20 
791 The Mayor of Casterbridge 20 

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143 One False, Both Fair 20 

358 Within the Clasp 20 

Mary Cecil Hay’s Works. 

65 Back to tlie Old Home 10 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money 20 

196 Hidden Perils • 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake 20 

224 The Arundel Motto 20 

281 The Squire’s Legacy 20 

290 Nora’s Love Test 20 

408 Lester’s Secret 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished 20 

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313 The Lover’s Creed 20 

802 A Stern Chase 20 

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609 Nell Haffenden 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty 20 

Works by the Author of Judith 
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332 Judith Wynne 20 

506 Lady Lovelace 20 

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117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 20 

133 Peter the Whaler 10 

761 Will Weatherhelra 20 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke 
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191 Harry Lorrequer 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
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212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
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243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” First 

half 20 

243 Tom Burke of ” Ours.” Sec- 
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473 A Lost Son 20 

620 Between the Heather and the 
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663 Handy Andy 20 

664 Rory O’More 20 


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40 Tlie Last Days of Pompeii 

83 A Strange Story 

90 Ernest Maltravers 

130 The Last of tihe Barons. First 

half 

130 The Last of the Barons. Sec- 
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162 Eugene Aram 

164 Leila; or. The Siege of Grenada 
650 Alice; or. The Mysteries. (A Se- 
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720 Paul Clifford 


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282 Donal Grant 

325 The Portent 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

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722 What’s Mine’s Mine 


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159 A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other 

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208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

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276 Under the Lilies and Roses.... 

444 The Heart of Jane Warner 

449 Peeress and Player 

689 The Heir Presumptive 

Captain Marryat’s Works. 

88 The Privateersman 

272 The Little Savage 

Helen B. Mathers’s Works. 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal 

221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye 

438 Found Out 

535 Murder or Mansla,ughter? 

673 Story of a Sin 

713 “Cherry Ripe” 

795 Sam’s Sweetheart 

798 The Fashion of this World 

799 My Lady Green Sleeves 

Justin McCarthy’s Works. 


121 Maid of Athens 29 

602 Camiola ^ 

685 England Under Gladstone. 
1880—1885 20 


747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.. 10 
779 Doom I An Atlantic Episode. . 10 


oS O O gS oS oBB B 888 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. —Pocket Edition. 


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2(j7 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 
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268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser’s Treasure 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice 20 

316 Sworn to Silence; or. Aline 

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155 Lady Muriel’s Secret 20 

539 Silvermead 20 

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172 “Golden Girls’’ 20 

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11 John Halifax, Gentleman 20 

845 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

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808 King Arthur. Not a Love Story 20 


357 John 20 

370 Lucy Crofton 10 

371 Margaret Maitland 20 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 

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402 Lilliesleaf; or, Passages in the 
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410 Old Lady Mary 10 

527 The Da' s of My Life 20 

528 At His Gates 20 

568 The Perpetual Curate 20 

569 Ha'-ry Muir 20 

605 Agnes. 1st half 20 

603 Agnes. 2d half 20 

604 Innocent. 1st half 20 

604 Innocent. 2d half 20 

605 Ombra 20 

645 Oliver’s Bride 10 

655 The Open Door, and The Por- 
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687 A Country Gentleman 20 

703 A House Divided Against Itself 20 
710 The Greatest Heiress in England 20 


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58 By the Gate of the Sea 10 

195 “ The Way of the World ’’ 20 

320 A Bit of Human Nature 10 

661 Rainbow Gold 20 

674 First'Person Singular 20 

691 Valentine Strange 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

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698 A Life's Atonement 20 

737 Aunt Rachel 10 


Works by the author of “ Mj 
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376 The Crime of Christmas Day. 10 
596 My Ducats and My Daughter... 20 


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184 Thirl by Hall 20 

277 A Man of His Word 10 

^55 That Terrible Man 10 

500 Adrian Vidal 20 


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47 Altiora Peto 20 

537 Piccadilly 10 


4 Under Two Flags 20 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras.. 20 

116 Moths 20 

128 Afternoon and Other Sketches. 10 

226 Friendship 20 

228 Princess Napraxine 20 

238 Pascarel 20 

239 Signa. 20 

433 A Rainy June 10 

639 Othmar 20 

671 Don Gesualdo 10 

672 In Maremma. First half 20 

672 In Maremma. Second half 20 

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48 Thicker Than Water 20 

186 The Canon’s Ward 20 

343 The Talk of the Town 20 

577 In Peril and Privation 10 

589 The Luck of the Darrells 20 

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660 The Scottish Chiefs. 1st half.. 2(? 
660 The Scottish Chiefs. 2d half.. 20 
696 Thaddeus of Warsaw 20 


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45 A Little Pilgrim 

177 Salem Chapel. 

205 The Minister’s Wife 

321 The Prodigals, and Their In- 
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337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 

the Borough of Fendie 

345 Madam 

851 The House ou the Moor 


10 

20 

30 


336 Philistia 20 

611 Babylon 20 


Mrs. Campbell Praed’s Works. 


10 


428 Zero : A Story of Monte-Carlo . 10 
477 Affinities 10 


20 


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20 173 The Foreigners 
20 331 Gerald 


20 

20 


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46 Very Hard Cash 20 

98 A Woman-Hater 20 

S06 The Picture, aud Jack of All 

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210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 
rent Events 10 

213 A Terrible Temptation 20 

214 Put Yourself in His Place 20 

216 Foul Play 20 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy... 20 

232 Love and Money ; or, A Perilous 

Secret 10 

IKS “It is Never Too Late to 
Mend.” A Matter-of -Fact Ro- 
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Mrs* J* H. Riddell’s Works. 

71 A Struggle for Fame 20 

903 Bema Boyle 20 

“Rita’s” Works. 

252 A Sinless Secret 10 

446 Dame Durden 20 

698 “ Corinna.” A Study 10 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss 20 


F. W. Robinson’s Works. 

157 Milly’sHero 20 

217 The Mau She Cared For 20 

261 A Fair Maid 20 

455 Lazarus in London 20 

590 The Courting of Mary Smith. . . 20 

W. Clark Russell’s Works. 

85 A Sea Queen 20 

109 Little Loo 20 

180 Round the Galley Fire 10 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. . 10 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart 20 

592 A Strange Voyage 20 

682 In the Middle Watch. Sea 

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743 Jack’s Courtship. 1st half 20 

748 Jack’s Courtship. 2d half 20 

Sir Walter Scott’s Works. 

28 Ivanlioe 20 

801 The Monastery 20 

202 The Abbot. (Sequel to “The 

Monastery ”) 20 

353 The Black Dwarf, and A Le- 
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362 The Bride of Lammermoor.. .. 20 

863 The Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

364 Castle Dangerous 10 

891 The Heart of Mid-Lothian 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak 20 

393 The Pirate 20 

401 Waverley 20 

417 The Fair Maid of Perth ; or, St. 

Valentine’s Day 20 

418 St. Bouan’s Well 20 


463 Redgauntlet. A Tale of the 

Eighteenth Century 20 

507 Chronicles of the Canongate, 
and Other Stories 10 

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429 Boulderstone; or. New Men and 

Old Populations 10 

580 The Red Route 20 

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649 Cradle and Spade 26 

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348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

Romance 20 

367 Tie and Trick 20 

550 Struck Down 10 

Frank £. Smedley’s Works. 

333 Frank Fairlegh; or, Scenes 
from the Life of a Private 

Pupil 20 

562 Lewi.s Arundel; or. The Rail- 
road of Life 20 

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150 For Himself Alone 10 

653 A Barren Title 10 

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686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

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704 Prince Otto 10 

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405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 1# 

694 John Maidment 20 


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270 The Wandering Jew. Part I.. . 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part II. . 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Parti. ^ 
271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part II. 20 

George Temple’s Works. 

599 Lancelot Ward, M.P 10 

642 Britta 10 

William M. Thackeray’s Works. 

27 Vanity Fair 20 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. 20 

464 The Newcomes. Parti 20 

464 The Newcomes. Part II 20 

531 The Prime Minister (Ist half). . ^ 
531 The Prime Minister (2d half).. ^ 
670 The Rose aud ttie Ring. Illus- 
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141 She Loved Him! 10 

142 Jenifer 80 

565 No Medium 1^ 


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93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 
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147 Rachel Ray 20 

200 An Old Man’s Love 10 

531 The Prime Minister. 1st halL . 20 
531 The Prime Minister. 2d. half. .. 20 

621 The Warden 10 

622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. . . 10 
667 The (^Iden Lion of Granpere.. 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. 1st half 20 

700 Ralpli the Heir. 2d half 20 

775 The Three Clerks , 20 

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298 Mitchelhurst Place 10 

686 “ For Percival ” 20 

•lules Verne’s Works. 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

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100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 20 
368 The Southern Star; or, the Dia- 
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395 The Archipelago on Fire 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part I 10 

678 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Partll 10 

678 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part HI 10 

659 The Waif of the “ Cynthia ”... 20 
751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
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751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
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241 The Baby’s Grandmother 10 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 20 

^8 Cousins 20 

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192 At the World’s Mercy 10 

248 The House on tlie Marsh 10 

286 Deldee ; or. The Iron Hand — 20 

482 A Vagrant Wife 20 

656 A Prince of Darkness 20 

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709 Zonobia; or, The Fall of Pal- 
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7'^9 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 
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760 Aurelian; or, Rome in the Third 

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827 Raymond’s Atonement 20 

WO At a High Price -C 


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637 What’s His Offence? 20 

780 Rare Pale :RIargaret 20 

784 The Two Miss Flemings 20 

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409 Roy’s Wife 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 

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492 Mignon ; or. Booties’ Baby. Il- 
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600 Houp-La. Illustrated 10 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

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688 A Man of Honor. Illustrated.. 10 

746 Cavalry Life ; or. Sketches and 

Stories in Barracks and Out. . 20 


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8 East Ljmne 20 

255 The Mystery 20 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters 10 

508 The Unholy Wish 10 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

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514 The Mystery of Jessy Page, and 

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610 The Story of Dorothy Grape, 
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Charlotte M. Yonge’s Works. 

247 The Armourer's Prentices 10 

^5 The Three Brides lO 

535 Henrietta’s Wish; or. Domi- 
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563 The Two Sides of the Shield — 20 

640 Nuttie’s Father 20 

6^5 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest. . 20 
666 My Young Alcides: A Faded 

"photograph 2( 

739 The Caged Lion 2il 

742 Love and Life .... 20 

783 Chantry House 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls; or. The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 

First half 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls; or. The 
White and black Ribaumonl. 

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800 Hopes and Fears; or. Scenes 
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First half 20 

800 Hopes and Fears; or. Scenes 
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53 The Story of Ida. Francesca. . 10 
61 Charlotte Temple. Mrs. Row- 

son 1® 

99 Barbara’s History. Amelia B. 

Edwards 19 


THE SEASIDE LlBRARY.—PocM Edition. 


Miscellaneous— Continued. 


103 Rose Fleming. Dora Russell . . 10 
105 A Noble Wife. John Saunders 20 

111 The Little School-master Mark. 

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112 The Waters of Marah. John 

Hill 20 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion. M. G. 

Wightwick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. Mrs. C. J. 

Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

120 Tom Brown’s School Das^s at 

Rugby. Thomas Hughes 20 

122 lone Stewart. Mrs. E. Lynn 
Linton 20 

127 Adrian Bright. Mrs. Caddy 20 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blath- 

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156 “For a Dream’s Sake.” Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

158 The Starling. Norman Mac- 
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160 Her Gentle Deeds. Sarah Tyt- 

ler 10 

161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 

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163 Winifred Power. Joyce Dar- 
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170 A Great Treason. Mary Hop- 

pus 30 

174 Under a Ban. Mrs. Lodge 20 

176 An April Day. Philippa Prit- 

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178 More Leaves from the Journal 
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Queen Victoria 10 

182 The Millionaire 20 

185 Dita. Tjady Margaret Majendie 10 
187 The Midnight Sun. Fredrika 

Bremer 10 

198 A Husband's Story 10 

203 John Bull and Hib, Island. Max 
O’Rell 10 

218 Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. James.. 20 

219 Lady Clare ; or, The Master of 

the Forges. Georges Ohnet 10 
242 The Two Orphans. D’Ennery. 10 
253 The Amazon. Carl Vosmaer. . 10 
*57 Beyond Recall. Adeline Ser- 
geant 10 

*66 The Water Babies. Rev. Chas. 

Kingsley 10 

*74 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
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and Letters 10 

279 Little Goldie : A Story of Wom- 
an’s Love. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 
den 20 

285 The Gambler’s Wife ^ 

889 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. A ” Brutal Sax- 

0»” 10 

r 


311 Two Years Before the Mast. R. 

H. Dana, Jr 20 

323 A Willful Maid 20 

329 The Polish Jew. (Translated 

from the French by Caroline 
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rian 10 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. Margaret Lee 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The White Witch 20 

340 Under Which King? Compton 

Reade 2* 

341 Madolin Rivers; or, The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

Laura Jean Libbey 20 

347 As Avon Flows. Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

350 Diana of the Crossways. George 
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352 At Any Cost Edward Garrett. 10 
354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 
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Ago. John Brougham 20 


355 The Princess Dagomar of Po- 

land. Heinrich Felbermann. 10 

356 A Good Hate». Frederick Boyle 20 
365 George Christy ; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. Tony 


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366 The Mysterious Hunter; or. 
The Man of Death. Capt. L. 

C. Carleton 20 

369 Miss Bretherton. Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 10 

374 The Dead Man’s Secret. Dr. 

Jupiter Paeon 20 

381 The Red Cardinal. Frances 

Elliot 10 

382 Three Sisters. Elsa D’Esterre- 

Keeling 10 

383 Introduced to Society. Hamil- 

ton Aid 6 10 

387 The Secret of the Cliffs. Char- 
lotte French 20 

389 Ichabod. A Portrait. Bertha 

Thomas 10 

399 Miss Brown. Vernon Lee 20 

403 An Englifsh Squire. C. R. Cole- 
ridge 20 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. Samuel 

Warren lo 

407 Tylney Hall. Thomas Hood. . . 20 
426 Venus’s Doves. Ida Ashworth 

Taylor 20 

430 A Bitter Reckoning. Author 
of “By Crooked Paths ” 10 

435 Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. George Taylor 20 

436 Stella. Fanny Lewald 20 

441 A Sea Change. Flora L. Shaw. 20 

442 Ranthorpe. George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of the Allmny . . . 10 
457 The Russians at the Gates of 

Herat. Charles Marvin 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY Pocket Edition. 


468 A Week of Passion ; or, The 
Dilemma of Mr. Georere Bar- 


ton the Younger. Edward 

Jenkins 20 

468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad, 
of a Sewing-Girl. Charlotte 

M. Stanley 10 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel. 

George Ebers 20 

479 Louisa. Katharine S. Macquoid 20 
483 Betwixt My Love and Me. By 

author of “ A Golden Bar ”. . . 10 
485 Tinted Vapours. J. Maclaren 

Cobban 10 

491 Society in London. A Foreign 

Resident 10 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. Lucas 

Malet 20 

501 Mr. Butler’s Ward. F. Mabel 

Robinson 20 

504 Curly: An Actor’s Story. John 

Coleman 10 

505 The Society of London. Count 

Paul Vasili 10 

510 A Mad Love. Author of “ Lover 

and Lord ” 10 

512 The Waters of Hercules 20 

518 The Hidden Sin 20 

619 James Gordon’s Wife 20 

626 Madame De Presnel. E. Fran- 
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532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 
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536 Dissolving Views. Mrs. Andrew 

Lang — 10 

545 Vida’s Story. By the author of 

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616 Mrs. Keith’s Crime. A Novel.. 10 
571 Paul Crew’s Story. Alice Co- 
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575 The Finger of Fate. Captain 
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681 The Betrothed. (I Promessi 

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682 Lucia, Hugh and Another. Mrs. 

J. H. Needell 20 

683 Victor}' Deane. Cecil Griffith . . 20 

684 Mixed Motives 10 


699 Lancelot Ward, M.P. George 

Temple 

612 My Wife’s Niece. By the a.uthor 

of “ Dr. Edith Romney ” 

624 Primus in Indis. M. J. Colqu- 

houn 

628 Wedded Hands. By the author 

of “My Lady’s Folly ’’ 

634 The Unforeseen. Alice O’Han- 
lon 

641 The Rabbi’s Spell. Stpart C. 
Cumberland 

643 Tile Sketch-Book of Geoffrey 

Crayon, Gent. Washington 
Irving 

644 A Girton Girl. Mrs. Annie Ed- 

\vfl.rcls •••••• 

652 The Lady with the Rubies. E. 

Marlitt 

654 “ Us.” An Old-fashioned Story, 
Mrs. Molesworth ..... 


662 The Mystery of Allan Grale. 
Isabella Fyvie Mayo 24 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance : 20 

669 The Philosojihy of Whist. 

William Pole 20 

675 Mrs. Dymond. Miss Thackeray 20 
681 A Singer’s Story. May Laffan. 10 
683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 
forth. Mrs. J. Harcourt-Roe. 20 


684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

692 The Mikado, and Other Comic 
Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 
Sullivan 20 

705 The Woman I Loved, and the 

AVoman AVho Loved Me. Isa 
Blagdeu 10 

706 A Crimson Stain. Annie Brad 

shaw 10 

712 For Maimie’s Sake. Grant 
Allen 20 

718 Unfairly Won. Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

719 Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

Lord Byron 10 

723 Mauleverer’s Millions. T. We- 
my.ss Reid 20 

725 My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

Silvio Pellico 10 

730 The Autobiography of Benja- 

min Franklin 10 

731 The Bayou Bride. Mrs. Mary E. 

Bryan 20 

735 Until the Day Breaks. Emily 

Spender 20 

738 In the Golden Days. Edna 
Lyall 20 

748 Hurrish : A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. 

Mabel Collins 20 

750 An Old Story of My Farming 

Days. Fritz Reuter. 1st half 20 
750 An Old Story of My Farming 

Days. Fritz Reuter. 2d half 20 


752 Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 

Juliana Horatia Ewing .. . , 10 

754 How to be Hajmy Though Mar- 

ried. By a Graduate in the 
University of Matrimony 20 

755 Margery Daw 20 

756 The Strange Adventures of Cap- 

tain Dangerous. A Narrative 
in Plain English. Attempted 
by George Augustus Sala 20 

757 Love’s Martyr. Laurence Alma 

Tadema 10 

759 In Shallow Waters. Annie Ar- 

mitt 20 

766 No. XIII: or, The Story of the 
Lost Vestal. Emma Mar- 

10 

Hor- 

. ... 10 


10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

10 

20 

20 

20 


10 
ni) 


shall 

770 The Castle of Otranto, 
ace Walpole 


TBE SEASIDE LIBBABY.— Pocket Edition. 


MiscelFaneous— Coutiuued. 

f73 Tlie Mark of Cain. Andrew 

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774 The Life and Travels of l\Iungo 
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776 r6re Goriot. Honor6 De Bal- 

zac 20 

777 The Voyages and Travels of 

of Sir John IMaiiudeville, Kt. . 10 

778 Society’s Verdict. By the au- 

thor of “ Marriage ” 20 

786 Ethel Mildmay’s Follies. By au- 

thor of “Petite’s Roniaiice 20 

787 Court Royal. S. Baring-Gould 20 


793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Eail of 

Beaconsfield. First half 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the'^Kt Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 
Beaconsfield. Second half .. . 20 
801 She Stoops to Conquer, and 
The Good-Natured Man. Oli- 
ver GoUlsmith 10 

803 Major Frank. A. L. G. Bos- 

boom-Tous.saint 20 

807 If Love Be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 20 

809 Witness My Hand. Bj' author 
of “ Lady Gwendolen's Tryst ’’ 10 


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The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition 
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MRS. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 

80 Her Dearest Foe 20 

36 The Wooing O’t 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

870 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

532 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

1231 The Freres 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward.'... 20 

1721 The Executor. 20 

1934 Mrs. Veieker’s Courier Maid 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS^ 

13 A Princess of Thule 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton 10 

Kilmeny. - 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Ordinary EdMion. 


63 The Monarch of Mincing Lane . 1C 

79 Madcap Violet (small type). ... 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type) 20 

242 The Three Feathers 10 

890 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart Id 

568 Green Pastures and Piccadilly l(f 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times 20 

v025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

1264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
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MISS M. E. BRA.DDON’S WORKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Levels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret. 20 

254 The Octoroon. 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit 2' 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 2-C 

469 Rupert Godwin - ^ 


THE 8EA8TEE TTBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


481 Vixen 30 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

600 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

526 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

639 A Strange World 20 

650 Fenton’s Quest 20 

662 Johp March mont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims . . i 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners. . 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 J ust as I Am ; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 20 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

311 Ti.e Professor 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBEABY.— Ordinary Edition. 


329 Wuthering Heights. 10 

438 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life 10 

552 Love at Saratoga. . 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl. . .• 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande 1 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls 20 

1019 His First Love 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

3192 Vendetta; or, The Southern Heiress 20 

3254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

3810 Married for Money (illustrated) 20 

3 829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

3830 Lottie an J Victorine ; or, Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 2(1 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek 20 

76 The New Magdalen . . . V. ; 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 x\rniadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 Tl»e Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story T. 

487 A Rogue’s Life 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBUART. — Ordinary Edition. 


651 The Yellow Mask ly, 

683 Fallen Leaves 20 

<S54 Poor Miss Finch 20 

675 The Moonstone. . . 20 

696 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

905 Duel in Herne Wood 16 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The BLck Robe 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life ? 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shot 10 

3856 “I S-iy No” 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WORKS. 

222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer 20 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The Pioneers 20 

231 The Prairie 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water Witch • 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing-and-Wing 20 

940 The Spy 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afloat and Ashore 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye des Vignerons ^ 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or, The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine 20 

1691 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific 20 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

100 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

102 Hard Times 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBBARY, — Ordina/ry Edition. 


118 Great Expectations 26 

187 David Copperfield 20 

SOO Nicholas Nickleby 20 

213 Barnaby Rudge 20 

218 Dombey and Son 20 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collms) 10 

247 Martin Chuzzlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christmas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Man 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

352 Pickwick Papers 20 

359 Somebody’s Luggage 10 

367 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction 10 

403 Tom Tiddler’s Ground 10 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

625 Sketches by Boz 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

827 The Mudfog Papers, &c 10 

860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child’s History of England 20 

1464 The Picnic Papers 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OP “DORA THORNE.” 

449 More Bitter than Death 10 

618 Madolin’s Lover. 20 

656 A Golden Dawn. . . IQ 

678 A Dead Heart K) 

718 Lord Lynne’s Choice; or, True Love Never Runs Smooth. 10 

746 Which Loved Him Best 20 

846 Dora Thorne 20 

^1 At War with Herself 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


931 The Sin of a Lifetime . 

1013 Lady Gwendoline’s Dream 10 

1018 Wife in Name Only 26- 

1044 Like No Other Love 10 

1060 A Woman’s War 10 

1072 Hilary’s Folly 10 

1074 A Queen Amongst Women..,. 10 

1077 A Gilded Sin 10 

1081 A Bridge of Love 10 

1085 The Fatal Lilies 10 

1099 Wedded and Parted 10 

1107 A Bride From the Sea 10 

1110 A Rose in Thorns 10 

1115 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

1122 Redeemed by Love 10 

1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring 10 

1127 Love’s Warfare 20 

1132 Repented at Leisure 20 

1179 From Gloom to Sunlight 20 

1209 Hilda 20 

1218 A Golden Heart 20 

1266 Ingledew House 10 

1288 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

1305 Love For a Day; or, Under the Lilacs 10 

1357 The Wife’s Secret !• 

1393 Two Kisses 10 

1460 Between Two Sins 10 

1640 The Cost of Her Love 20 

1664 Romance of a Black Veil 20 

1704 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

1761 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms, 20 

1844 Fair but False, and The Heiress of Arne 10 

1883 Sunshine and Roses 20 

1906 In Cupid’s Net 10 

ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 

144 The Twin Lieutenants lO 

151 The Russian Gipsy 10 

155 The Count of ^loniQ-Cvisio {Complete in One Volume ). 20 

160 The Black Tulip !... 10 

The Queen’s Necklace 20 




THE 


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